


Holding On For Life

by LynnLarsh



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Basically a not so deep dive into what makes a person a person, Hidden truths, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance is Too Pure (because reasons), M/M, Misunderstandings, Science versus Emotion, what does it mean to be human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-03-09 13:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: Keith is a (very Gay) wayward soul.  Lance is the most recent in a line of secretly designed AI.  Neither knows the either is what they are.  It has to happen this way.





	1. Keith

**Author's Note:**

> This is something unfinished that I've been working on for a while. Like. A long while. But if I don't start posting it now, I'm afraid I won't finish. So. Here it is.

His knuckles are screaming, fight or flight still thrumming in his veins likes the ringing of a gong, deafening to the ears and tingling to the skin in a way that itches, makes him want to claw his own hands off. Objectively, he knows they were just trying to rile him up, but they still succeeded, managed to whittle him down to the nerves and get him to snap. His second offense. One more and it’ll be expulsion, not just a week long suspension. 

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

His phone vibrates to life in his pocket, and when he reaches for it with his bad hand, he can’t help the hiss of pain as raw skin scratches against the fabric of his jeans. He’s not surprised to see the name illuminating the screen. He almost doesn’t answer.

“What do you want?” Keith huffs, leaning against the empty stretch of wall between the Starbucks and the UPS store, phone propped between his shoulder and his cheek so he can bury both hands back in his pockets. Pidge’s voice is a bit distant, probably on speaker phone, but mostly just noticeably aggravated.

“You gotta stop doing this,” she says, and Keith can’t help the involuntary click of his teeth. Of course she would have heard by now. In fact, he’s surprised he didn’t get a call from her in the middle of the fight.

“They started it,” Keith says, tone hallow, a baseless repetition. He can practically hear Pidge rolling her eyes

“You let them.”

Keith huffs and mumbles, “Victim blaming,” even though he knows she’s right. If he’d wanted to walk away, he could have. But he’d been practically begging for it. He’s been itching for a fight, for _any_ way to let off some steam. Maybe he just isn’t meant for higher education, all those people pretending to care, _assuming_ they know what’s best for him when even _he_ doesn’t have a clue about what to do with his life. Stupid.

“You’ve been wound up so tight, lately, I’m surprised you didn’t kill them,” Pidge sighs into the receiver, all but mimicking his thoughts. If anyone knows where his head’s been, it’s her.

“I didn’t do enough damage for more than a week off, so clearly it wasn’t all that bad.”

“It’s suspension, Keith, not vacation.” Her tone is chiding, but there’s an air of exasperation beneath; they’ve had this conversation too many times over the past couple of months. They’re both tired, barely holding on for the sake of propriety. It’s a scary thought.

“I’ll try harder when I get back, okay?” Keith says, even though he probably won’t. So he’s not surprised when she doesn’t believe him.

“Yeah, sure.” There’s a long and almost uncomfortable stretch of silence, Keith pressing off the wall to continue his bored stroll through the downtown strip. Pidge chimes back in after a few steps. “Before you go, could you grab me a triple shot espresso?”

Keith stops, looking to his left at the Starbucks before narrowing his gaze at the surrounding city, eventually locking eyes with a security camera on the building across the street. “You know that’s more creepy than courteous, right?”

Pidge makes some sort of dismissive noise before offering a curt yet proud, “I learned to hack the CCTV database when I was thirteen. I see no better use of that knowledge than keeping track of your flighty ass.”

“I’m not flighty,” Keith mumbles, bristling, but Pidge just laughs.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d cut and run at the first sign of inconvenience. Flighty.”

Again, he can’t exactly say she’s wrong.

“Triple shot espresso?” He asks after clearing his throat, as close to an admittance as he’s going to give her. She seems to hear it anyway, her voice smug.

“Please and thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll be-”

Something rams into his shoulder from behind. Hard. It nearly jostles his phone from his grip, his stance shifting to make up for a loss of balance. By the time he rights himself, the cause of his stumble is already walking past, completely oblivious.

“Hey!” Keith shouts at his back. “Watch it, asshole!” Vaguely, he can hear Pidge saying something, voice concerned. He’s too distracted to notice, however, his breath catching in his throat when the guy turns around.

Short dark hair frames his face, brown skin standing out beneath the stark white of his t-shirt and scrub-like pants. He’s tall, though not much taller than Keith, and he would be lying if he said his face wasn’t pretty; clear skin and angular features, expression locked into something open and awed. But it’s his eyes that leave Keith sputtering, eyes that are big and bright, bright blue, a look of pure fascination keeping them wide and excited. When they latch on to Keith, his heart skips a beat.

“Oh!” The mysterious stranger smiles, full lips stretching over perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. Is this guy even _real_? “I’m sorry, did I run into you?” He asks, genuine concern bleeding into his features, though not enough to really dampen whatever unbridled enthusiasm he seems to be sporting. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Even as he talks and smiles and looks at Keith like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world, his eyes continue to scan his surroundings. Whether he’s looking for something or just admiring, it’s hard to tell.

It takes the guy’s eyes focusing back on him, a confusion pulling just slightly at his brow, for Keith to realize he hasn’t answered. 

“I’m fine,” Keith says, voice tense. He can hear Pidge’s voice yelling distantly at him from his phone, his face heating. He clears his throat before trying again. “Just… Watch where you’re going.”

In a way that should be ironic, or at the very least mocking, the guy throws out a rather exuberant thumbs up in Keith’s direction. “You got it.” And then, just like that, he turns back around to continue his wide-eyed stroll through downtown.

It takes a few seconds of watching his back, the guy coming to a stop in front of the mini Free Library next to the Starbucks, for Keith to finally raise his phone back to his ear. 

“Sorry about that,” he says, never taking his eyes off the stranger. It’s probably creepy, but there’s something about him and his purely enthusiastic nature that’s mesmerizing.

“What happened?” Pidge asks, sounding a bit miffed. Keith tries to pry his eyes away from the sight of the guy pulling a book from the library, flipping through the pages, and breaking out into one of the biggest, most genuine smiles he’s ever seen. He can’t quite seem to manage it.

“Some dude just shoulder checked me,” Keith says offhandedly, but Pidge must be able to hear the unspoken details, even if she can’t piece together what they are.

“Are you okay?” She asks, and even though she starts going off on another tirade about fighting and how he’s in enough trouble as it is, Keith’s attention stays firmly rooted. Especially when the guy looks up from the book, catches Keith’s eyes with a smile, and then sees something over Keith shoulder that sets that expression of excitement on his face spiraling into one of near panic. Keith’s heart jumps in his own concern, tensing defensively when the guy runs back in his direction and grabs his wrist. The action is too abrupt to fight against, however, barely a chance to struggle before he’s hauled into the short alleyway to the right of the UPS store.

“What the hell are you-?” Keith tries to yell. His hackles rise instantly, especially with the remnant adrenaline from his fight earlier, but the guy doesn’t hesitate to put both hands over Keith’s mouth to silence him. Keith’s phone falls to the alley floor in his shock.

“ _Shhh_!” The guy hisses, turning them both around so Keith’s back is to the opening of the alleyway. He’s practically hiding behind Keith’s chest, head ducking down just enough for his eyes to peak out over Keith’s shoulder. Normally, Keith would push him away, possibly even incapacitate him in the process; it wasn’t unusual for him to teach guys like him a lesson. But for some reason, he doesn’t. 

For some reason, he can’t help but think about how soft the guy’s hands are as they press just this side of uncomfortably against his lips. He can’t help but realize how nervous he seems, like he’s hiding from someone. So against his better judgment, Keith stays quiet, waiting if not a bit impatiently for the guy to calm down and let him go.

At such close proximity, Keith can see the exact moment the guy’s searching gaze latches onto whoever he was waiting for, blue eyes trailing after it until it’s out of sight again. When it is, his whole demeanor relaxes, his face easing back into one of animated enthusiasm. This time though, it’s tinged with a noticeable hint of pride and mischievousness, his gaze laser focusing back on Keith.

“Thanks for that,” he says, smiling with what Keith has started to decide is an unhealthy level of exuberance. “I’m not really ready to go back yet, so.”

Keith tries to respond, but the action is instantly thwarted by the realization that those soft hands are still pressed firmly against his mouth. As much as he hates it, Keith feels his cheeks grow hot. The guy doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m Lance, by the way,” he says, looking at Keith like he isn’t still nearly suffocating him beneath long, tan fingers and an unusually cold palm. “What’s your name?”

Keith makes a noise and frowns, raising a hand to tap insistently at the back of Lance’s knuckles. For a second, Lance looks at him in confusion, but eventually he understands, pulling his hands away with a laugh.

“Oh right! Sorry about that. Hard to answer a question when you physically can’t talk.”

“It’s… fine,” Keith clears his throat, running a hand over his own face, fingers pulling a bit at his lips as if he can erase the feel of Lance’s hands against him. A bout of silence passes, Lance looking at him expectantly, and it takes Keith a second to realize he hasn’t answered the previous question. “I’m Keith.”

“Keith,” Lance repeats, and then again, slower. “Keeeeiiiith. I like it. Do you have a last name?”

Keith frowns, completely thrown. “Of course?”

“Cool. What is it?”

Lance seems oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation, so Keith just sighs, offering up a curt, “Kogane.” Abruptly, Lance’s brow furrows in what appears to be intense thought.

“Keith. Kogane. Keith Kogane.” Lance repeats, mulling it over with an unnerving deliberateness, as if he’s trying to physically taste every single syllable. Eventually, he smiles bright again, holding out a hand in Keith’s direction. “Japanese? It suits you. Mine’s McClain. Lance McClain. I’m from here.”

“O…kay?” Keith raises an eyebrow at the ridiculous exchange, eventually deciding to bite the bullet and shake the guy’s hand. Somehow, Lance’s smile seems to triple at the touch, his handshake firm and overly eager, just like the rest of him.

And then, Lance lets go of Keith’s hand and slaps both of his hard against Keith’s shoulders. “I just had the best idea!” He says, smile blinding and eyes damn near pleading. Keith doesn’t quite know how to respond, especially when he continues with an eager, “Take me out to lunch?”

“Excuse me?” Keith balks, knowing his face has gone red and hating how his voice squeaks in surprise. Lance doesn’t seem to notice.

“Take me out to lunch!” His hands tighten in a subtle grip against Keith’s shoulders as if to persuade him.

And god dammit. He has no idea why he does it, but somehow he finds himself sitting in a diner no more than five minutes later, a plate of spaghetti and an energetic Lance practically bouncing in his seat on the other side of the booth’s small table.

Five minutes turns into ten, Lance simply twirling his spaghetti around a fork before letting it drop back onto the pile. He sniffs the steam, touches the sauce with his finger to smear it along a clean edge of white plate, and Keith watches the whole ordeal with a perplexity bordering on the disturbed.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Keith finally asks, both out of genuine curiosity and because the continuing stretch of silence begins to grate at his nerves.

As if just then remembering that Keith is there, Lance looks up in surprise, grinning. He puts his fork down and leans back into the booth. “Oh. No, I’m not hungry.”

Keith feels his eye twitch, his last twenty bucks gone to uneaten spaghetti, an ignored cola, and Keith’s half drunk, barely palatable coffee. He has no idea why he’s here, but it’s starting to legitimately overwhelm him. Maybe Lance notices, his shoulders slumping a bit as he pushes the plate in Keith’s direction, the smell of tomato sauce and parmesan making his mouth water.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says, a coy smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I just really wanted to see what it looked like in person.”

For a long moment, Keith merely glances from Lance to the plate with a cautious frown. This whole situation is beyond suspicious, but he’d been kicked off campus right before lunch, so he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hungry. It doesn’t take much convincing for him to pick up Lance’s fork and dig in.

Even as he shovels a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, however, Keith can’t ignore the obvious question Lance has presented. “You’ve never had spaghetti?” His mouth is full when he asks, the sound of the muffled words making Lance chuckle. With a frown, Keith swallows and looks away. “How have you never had spaghetti?”

“My diet is regimented by the facility’s nutritional staff.”

Keith pauses, another forkful of spaghetti frozen halfway to his mouth. Lance’s response brokers more questions than it answers, Keith’s mind suddenly spinning with layer upon layer of curiosities. Before he has a chance to start prying, however, the sound of the diner door chiming makes them both jump. Lance’s face falls. Just as quickly, however, it settles into a simultaneously amused but disappointed acceptance.

“Well. Party’s over,” he says under his breath, just for Keith to hear, and no more than a second later, he hears someone behind him shout Lance’s name. Keith turns around just in time to see a man rushing in their direction. He is heavier set and dark skinned, black hair pulled back by a yellow headband. He also appears to be sporting a set of scrubs in the same pristine white as Lance’s t-shirt and pants, though in his breast pocket is clipped an ID. When he gets close enough, Keith reads the words Hunk Garrett – Medical Staff Intern.

“Lance, you can’t just run off like that, buddy,” Hunk scolds, sounding a bit panicked. This must have been who Lance was avoiding earlier. 

“Keith was taking good care of me, don’t worry!” Lance tries to convince the man with a smile, but Hunk only frowns, glancing at Keith for the first time. His expression shifts into something wary and Keith can’t help but feel offended, shoulders tensing defensively.

Just as quickly as it had fallen on him, however, Hunk’s attention shifts back to Lance. “You know if you sneak out like that, I get in trouble too, right?”

At this, Lance appears to look legitimately chastised. “I know, Hunk. I’m sorry.” Lance’s eyes fall to the table, Keith’s gaze bouncing between Lance and Hunk with growing trepidation. There’s no real reason for it, but something about the exchange makes a protective spike dig deep into Keith’s chest. It’s the same feeling he gets when people occasionally attempt to bully Pidge, not that she needs protecting. The last asshole who tried to start shit wound up with a sudden streak of failing grades and a court appointed restraining order regarding all people under five foot two.

“Come on, Lance,” Hunk says suddenly, holding out a hand to help him out of the booth, and Keith is struck with the sudden overwhelming concern that maybe Lance wasn’t just avoiding someone, but _running away_ from someone. Maybe he doesn’t want to go with this guy, maybe he was looking for some manner of escape. 

Something in his face must show as such, because Hunk looks him over once more and then smiles, a look that is the perfect embodiment of kindness and comfort. Despite himself, Keith relaxes, even if only just fractionally. “Don’t worry,” he says to Keith, placing a hand on the small of Lance’s back to guide him. “I’m just taking him home.”

As if to solidify the legitimacy of the comment, Lance chooses that moment to lock eyes with Keith one last time, lips pulling up at the corner in a smirk. A very _attractive_ smirk. Shit. “Thanks for lunch,” he says with a wink, Keith’s heart stuttering at the sight.

And then, without any other explanation, Hunk and Lance walk away, nothing but a frantic conversation left in their wake.

“You didn’t actually eat any of that, did you?”

“Of course not. I just wanted to look at it.”

“Oh thank god.”

Keith sits there in stunned silence, watching them leave until they’ve walked out the door, around the corner, and beyond view of the diner windows. It’s another good couple of minutes later, alone with his untouched cola and coffee, his half eaten spaghetti, before he realizes his phone is still sitting on the alley floor nearly a block away. Pidge is gonna be so pissed.


	2. Dr. Shirogane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Shiro's initial reservations, they're moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about weekly updates, but honestly? I just need to get stuff posted. Visual motivations and all that. So enjoy, darlings!

“You can’t just go running off like that,” Shiro sighs, letting go of Lance’s right hand and picking up his left, proceeding to test each finger individually. Joint mobility normal.

Lance pouts, letting Shiro maneuver his limbs as need be. “I know. I already got an earful from Hunk.” A brief pause, and then, in a voice filled with soft concern, “Is he gonna get in trouble?”

Shiro pauses in testing the reflexes in Lance’s knee, momentarily impressed by how genuine his concern seems to be, as if he’s legitimately worried for Hunk. It softens something in Shiro’s resolve, and even though it would have been wiser to tell Lance yes, to make him realize the severity of his actions not just for himself but for others, Shiro can’t bring himself to lie. He does let him stew a bit however, inputting a couple of notes into his data pad before answering.

“No,” he says. “Hunk did exactly what he was supposed to do. You, however, have broken an ungodly amount of protocols today. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for you out there? Especially without an escort?”

“You mean babysitter,” Lance pouts, stretching his arm out for the scanner Shiro intends to tape to the inside of his wrist next. Shiro blinks, tapping a few more notes into his data pad before doing as such. Vitals normal.

“You’re still sick, Lance,” Shiro tries for comforting but stern, removing the scanner and placing it on the back of Lance’s neck, right at the juncture where spinal chord links with brain stem. “Running off on your own like that isn’t safe, and possibly detrimental to your health. Plain and simple.” He feels beneath Lance’s jaw, testing the joints and keeping an eye on the readouts. “We’ve made real strides, Lance. You don’t want to have a set back, do you? Finger test, please.” Lance obliges, touching each finger to his thumb one at a time. Connectivity normal.

“But I’m boooooored, Shiro!” Lance whines once he lets his hands fall back to the hospital bed, fingers tightening in the sheets. He looks downright distraught, enough to make an involuntary ache tug just behind Shiro’s chest. Shiro shakes it off, distracting himself with his notes.

“Bored or not, we can’t have you running off into the city without supervision. Especially when it means skipping out on this week’s comprehensive exams.” As expected, Lance cringes, looking properly chagrined when he manages to glance back at Shiro’s disapproving frown. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the timing of your little stunt.”

After a brief stare-off, Lance deflates further, grinning up at Shiro in a way that can only be described as sheepish. Once again, Shiro can’t help but be impressed, making quick note of the way Lance shrugs before straightening.

“You got me.”

“Yes. I did,” Shiro huffs, shaking his head. “And I know you’re worried about not getting your results to us on time, so just to make you feel better, you can work on this week’s exams for the rest of the day.” Lance opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but seems to realize it’ll be no use, a look of resigned acceptance settling over his features.

“Gee thanks, Shiro,” he mumbles. “You’re the best.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Shiro jests, watching as Lance huffs, blowing a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. The look on his face is amused but distant, and a thought strikes Shiro, something he can’t shake. So, despite the fact that it may be unnecessary, and more than a little off book, he carefully adds, “You know I’m not angry with you, right Lance?” Lance tenses, but when he looks up at Shiro again, there’s a noticeable spark of hope behind his eyes. Shiro can’t help but smile. “I was just worried. We all were.”

Lance seems to analyze every aspect of Shiro’s expression at first, as if looking for something, but eventually he relaxes, his own expression softening in relief. “I know, Shiro,” he says, voice still tinged with guilt but everything else far more at ease. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Shiro shakes his head, strangely proud. “Just don’t let it happen again. And get to work on those exams.”

“You got it, doc,” Lance grins, offering Shiro a mock salute as he digs his touch pad from under his pillow and activates the holo-screen, fingers flying about in open space beneath it. Shiro can’t help but sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose in exasperation even as he chuckles softly to himself. That boy will be the death of him.

The scarred bit of flesh where his upper arm connects to his prosthetic twinges with phantom pain. Shiro ignores it.

When he closes the door between them, locking Lance in his room, it’s to find Hunk waiting for him in the hall.

“Um… Dr. Shirogane?” Hunk fidgets with the hem of his scrubs, not quite able to look Shiro in the eye. Eventually, he manages to steel himself, though he still looks about a second from bolting.

“Hunk?” Shiro answers him, as if engaging might keep the intern from chickening out of whatever he seems so afraid to address. Not that Shiro has any doubt what that might be.

“About what happened before,” he starts, and even that much looks like a struggle for him, his face red and eyes shining. Shiro sighs, already mentally preparing himself to comfort the poor kid. “I know it was my job to keep an eye on Lance, and I swear I have no idea how I messed up this bad, but I promise I’ll never let anything like that happen again. So please don’t fire me.”

“Hunk,” Shiro tries for a smile, but the intern isn’t even looking at him, eyes locked on the floor and fists gripped tight at his sides as if waiting to be yelled at. Careful not to startle him, Shiro places a hand on his shoulder. Hunk tenses but doesn’t shake him off; good start. “Look, we’re not going to fire you. Lance seems to have grown legitimately fond of you, which makes you an asset to this team.” Hunk relaxes marginally beneath Shiro’s grip, so Shiro drops his hand and uses it to lift Hunk’s chin a little, forcing his attention forward. “Not to mention the security footage shows signs that the doors were manually opened by unidentified staff personnel. So unless you’re saying you let him get out on purpose-”

“No, of course not!” Hunk shouts, shaking his head with determined vigor. For being a little skiddish, Shiro can’t help but admire the kid’s loyalty. So with one last pat to the shoulder for good measure, Shiro smiles.

“Then you’re off the hook. We’ll figure out who’s to blame for Lance’s undocumented release and then-”

“Who says it’s undocumented?” A new voice, tinged with an accented lilt and air of familiar authority, easily asserts itself into their conversation. Hunk straightens in professional courtesy, but Shiro can’t help the groan that escapes him at her presence, the pieces falling into place with abrupt precision.

“Really, Allura?” When he turns to glare at her, her smile is smug, long white hair pulled up in the tell tale bun she dons when in the middle of more hands on research. Not for the first time, he’s amazed at how young she is; were it not for the woman’s fierce work ethic and unwavering resolve in the face of her corporate sponsors, Shiro would have claimed nepotism. Chief Head of Staff in a company like this was hard to come by, and even harder to maintain. But even with her father’s name on the building, no one would dare believe such a thing. This company, and everything it has produced since her father’s death, belonged to this woman. And rightfully so.

“Don’t look so shocked, Takashi,” Allura laughs, in the middle of slipping her white lab coat back on over her dark blue, fitted suit, the vibrancy of the contrast really making her brown skin and bright blue eyes pop. In his early years at the Institute, he might have considered her beautiful; now he mostly just considers her admirably terrifying.

It takes Hunk making an awkward noise of confusion before Shiro realizes the intern hasn’t left. “Excuse me, but I don’t think I-”

“Don’t worry about it, Hunk,” Shiro sighs, bringing a hand up to massage at the scar across his nose, another leftover ache from their first couple of Lance meltdowns. When he glances from Hunk to Allura, he adds with the barest hint of a smirk, “We’ve just found our culprit.”

“Oh,” Hunk flushes, scratching at the back of his neck. “But why?”

“Do me a favor and take this report to Dr. Shirogane’s office, will you?” Allura diverts. “You can leave it on his desk for the good doctor to read later.” Without waiting for Hunk to reply, she fishes a small data pad from the pocket of her lab coat and tosses it in Hunk’s direction. He scrambles to catch it and then nods, hurrying off to do as told.

“Care to answer the kid’s question now?” Shiro asks once Hunk has turned the corner.

“Come on, Takashi, think,” Allura sighs, but despite the annoyance, she still looks mostly excited, her cheeks darkening as she explains. “Trials have been going well, right? He’s been acting exactly as we’ve been expecting him to for months.” Shiro nods along, well aware of the reports. He’s written most of them. “But of course Lance has been acting accordingly around _us_. He’s programmed to. If we want legitimate data on his ability to improvise and interact with other humans, he has to be put in a situation where he needs to.”

“But alone?” Shiro asks, recognizing the legitimacy of her argument, but hard pressed to ignore the possible funding, possible dangers it might have caused. “Why not send Hunk with him?”

“Because this experiment was about seeing what Lance would do when given the opportunity to leave, to explore, to interact with other members of society unencumbered and uninhibited. It wasn’t about how Lance would act when he knew we were watching.” As if she hadn’t already handed one off to Hunk, Allura whips another data pad from her pocket, scanning through files and bringing up a folder titled Lance 9.0 – Experiment 139b. The pictures and videos inside are mostly security feeds, all of which depicting Lance wandering the streets downtown, interacting with a random person here or there. But it’s the last batch that are the most interesting

In the last few videos, Lance not only bulrushes a poor Asian boy, but uses him as a human shield to hide from Hunk, promptly drags him into a diner afterwards, and all but forces him to buy Lance food. If the kid is in college, the company may need to send an anonymous donation to whatever scholarship that boy is vying for.

“You know why I’m showing you this, right?” Allura says after switching off the data pad and slipping it back into her pocket. Shiro shrugs.

“To revel in the fact that Lance took your opportunity to escape and ran with it? That’s hardly a big deal. He’s been bored out of his mind in here since the day we activated his improvisational algorithm.”

“Yes, yes. Lance behaved exactly as we wanted him to, even going so far as to convince a random stranger to buy him a meal he had no intention of eating. Perfectly executed, if not a bit unusual, human interaction.”

Slowly but surely, what Allura’s implying begins to sink in. “You mean… That boy? The one he-”

“Yes,” Allura nods, excitement growing.

“You mean he didn’t-?”

“None! Beyond general confusion, no notable suspicions at all!” Allura laughs, throwing her hands up in enthusiastic display. “Hunk has been debriefed, we checked every viable camera source we could get our hands on, even the security footage from inside the diner, and from what we can tell, this boy had no clue that he wasn’t talking to a very strange but very legitimate human.”

“Allura, that’s… That’s big,” Shiro breathed. “That’s huge!”

“I know! We need to let him out more. Maybe do weekly or even daily trials.”

“Not without an escort this time, even if Hunk has to sneak around to do it,” Shiro cuts her off before she can start spouting off protocols for the new experiment. “It’s too dangerous to let him go off on his own like that. We could end up losing billions of dollars in research just because Lance doesn’t know how to cross the street.”

“So then make sure his newest update has information about pedestrian walkways,” Allura huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Shiro, this could be the breakthrough we’ve been looking for, the difference between an artificial intelligence that lasts two months and one that last a lifetime, a hundred lifetimes.” She leans in, placing a hand on his arm, right above his prosthetic. Another twinge goes steadfastly ignored. “All of our failures, all of our struggles, they could finally be paying off. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I do,” Shiro answers with no hesitation, a small chuckle escaping him when Allura lights up at the admission. She gives his arm a light pat and steps away.

“Then make sure he’s ready by tomorrow. I’ve decided the daily trials will provide more accurate results, don’t you?” Then, turning on her heel, she starts heading back to her office, leaving Shiro to listen to her parting remark as it echoes throughout the hall. “Waste not, want not, after all!”

Shiro shakes his head as she turns the corner, hoping Allura isn’t jumping the gun on this one. Vaguely, Shiro can hear the sound of Lance working in his room, the most recent set of “exam” downloads focusing on language replication and application with a focus this time on French, Russian, and Korean. His first set had solidified English, Japanese, Spanish, and German, but no matter how many languages Lance manages to store, it’s impossible to prepare him for actual human conversation. Shiro suddenly can’t help but wonder what the interactions might have been like with that boy in the diner.

Sure, Lance did well today, if what Allura is saying is true, but Shiro can’t shake the feeling that it’s still too soon. He can’t shake the feeling that something will end up going wrong, end up ruining everything they’ve been working so hard for.

He knows Allura is excited, knows she’s right about the breakthrough, but he can’t help thinking that they’ve just put Lance on a path to destruction. Just like every one of his predecessors.


	3. Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes being human really kind of sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to any of you who are reading this. It was definitely a passion project and I really want to get that back so, hopefully this helps.

“Increase the speed by ten percent,” Hunk says from behind the glass. Lance adjusts his footing on the treadmill and uses the necessary amount of friction against rubber to bring his speed up to 7.25 km/h. “Perfect,” Hunk nods, and the tone of his voice implies approval, so Lance smiles.

“Easy enough,” he says, keeping his pace steady, feeling the new tempo settle into each individual motion of his muscles; legs pumping in a fluid rhythm, arms swinging in counter balance. Lance likes running, the synapses in his brain firing in a way that causes his lips to tug into a wide grin, his eyesight to sharpen in excited focus. It’s a simple cause and effect, a task easily accomplished, and yet something about it just makes him... happy.

After a few more minutes of differing speeds, some slightly slower, most pushing the boundaries of his capabilities (he likes those best), the sensors attached to his ankles and calves give a soft beep. 

Without prompting, Lance slows to a jog, then a walk, then a full stop. When he glances towards the window, Hunk is giving him a Thumbs Up, so Lance enthusiastically returns it. Hunk’s always doing things like that, teaching him stuff like the Thumbs Up or the Peace Sign. His favorite so far has been the double hand symbol for Finger Guns, especially when paired with the Wink that Hunk had taught him. Allura liked this one least, though, so he tries not to use it as often.

“Alright, Lance,” Hunk speaks into the microphone after a moment, grabbing Lance’s attention. “Just arms left and we’re done.” His head is still bent over his data pad, but while one hand inputs the data from the test, the other is already pulling up the next physical on the desktop computer. When Lance thumbs through the archives of his vocabulary, his mind produces the word “multitasking” and for some reason, it leaves Lance impressed. He’ll have to analyze that response later.

“You got it, buddy!” Lance shoots Hunk another grin and a Thumbs Up before jumping from the treadmill to the set of pull-up bars in the corner. A few days after Hunk had been hired by the Institute (Time Stamp: One Year, Five Months, Eighteen Days), he’d started hesitantly referring to Lance as his “buddy,” a term that Lance had instantly felt enamored by. Its connotations were friendly and intimate, casual but holding a sense of familiarity that Lance found himself experimenting with ruthlessly in the days to follow.

By the look on his face, Shiro found the term to be disturbing, though Lance couldn’t seem to determine why.

Allura and Coran had both found it amusing but had never reciprocated, which, for some reason, had left Lance feeling less motivated to utilize it.

But Hunk. Hunk had responded with eagerness, returning the endearment in kind. In fact, in those first couple of instances, Lance would say his responses had been almost fond, maybe even a little bit proud.

Once Lance hears the telltale beep from the sensors on his biceps and wrists, he hops up to grab the bar, wasting no time. As he pulls his chin over the bar once, twice, he watches the sensors light up with data, just as he knows the sensors on his temples have been doing since test one. If he concentrates hard enough, he swears he can almost feel the information leaving his body and traveling to Hunk’s data pad, the computer to his left, the main system on the bottom floor of the Institute. Though he knows his data is being stored for a purpose, he has never asked what. Probably something to do with making him healthy again. It would be nice to be healthy again one day, he imagines.

Just like at the end of every test, as soon as Lance has completed the allotted number of repetitions for the day, Hunk tells him to stop, inputting the newly gathered information before disconnecting Lance’s scanners. This time, it’s after his fiftieth rep, and Lance simply hangs from the bar in the aftermath, swinging slightly as he waits for Hunk to finish. If his perception of time is accurate, and it always is, they’re finishing with the physical exams a lot earlier than normal. This seems unusual, so Lance says so.

“These tests normally last a lot longer.” It may be a statement of fact, but Lance still allows Hunk to process it, wondering if he’ll offer a response. In the meantime, Lance kicks his feet out, swinging a bit more forcefully from the bar. If he gains enough momentum, he can probably hook his knees over and hang upside down. The thought excites him, so he does it, not quite making it at first, but eventually settling the metal beneath the curve of his knees and letting go. “Hunk, look!”

On the other side of the glass, Hunk glances up from his data pad and startles, hand fumbling with the microphone. “Lance, be careful!”

The warning seems unfounded (his legs are perfectly secure, the bar locked tight beneath his knees), but Lance doesn’t like when Hunk is worried, so he grabs the bar and carefully swings himself down.

“Sorry,” he says with a smile he hopes conveys the apology well enough. “It just looked like fun.” Hunk sighs, something Lance has noticed tends to happen more often than not around him for some reason. On average, probably around thirty-two times a day.

“Just… Hold on for another minute or two, okay?” He says. “I’ll be right in.”

Lance nods, standing straight and waiting patiently for Hunk to finish, trying his best not to move. The problem is, his mind wanders, eyes traveling around the room as if on reflex. He’s already got every inch of this room (and every other room he’s allowed in) memorized. There’s nothing new for him to do, nothing new for him to experience. And for some reason, that leaves him feeling… frustrated. Antsy. 

After only a few seconds, he starts tapping his foot, a steady rhythm that perfectly matches the second hand of the clock on the back wall. When that becomes uninteresting, he walks over to the weight set, picking up two of the five pounders, swinging them mindlessly at first before tossing them one at a time into the air. As he watches them rise and drop, he realizes a third would incorporate nicely, reaching over for a ten pounder and adding it into the mix. He juggles the three easily, adding another ten and even a fifteen pounder before Hunk finally scrambles into the room.

“I told you to just wait for me, dude!” Hunk groans, stopping a few feet from Lance with a hand out, hesitating, as if unsure whether to pull the weights from the air or pull Lance away from them entirely. Lance takes the cue and places each weight back into the rack as they fall into his hands.

“Sorry,” Lance says again, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the linoleum. “I got bored.”

“In two minutes?” Hunk raises an eyebrow at him, but it doesn’t look chastising, only surprised.

So Lance just shrugs. “Yes?”

“R-Right,” Hunk clears his throat, grabbing his data pad out and typing something before returning it to his pocket. “I know tests were short today, but I’ve been instructed to bring you back to your room for a bit.”

An as of yet unidentifiable sensation runs through Lance, the desire to whine crawling up his throat as if on autopilot. So he lets it.

“Huuuuunk. Back to my room already? But I’ve only been out for forty-seven minutes. That’s like… sixty-eight point two four percent shorter than normal. Can’t I stay with you for a little bit longer? I promise not to get bored this time.”

Surprisingly, Hunk actually hesitates, hope blooming warm and relieving somewhere in the vicinity of Lance’s chest. But, as expected, eventually Hunk just sighs, shaking his head in its own kind of apology. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he adds, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder, a comforting gesture that Lance has come to associate with the intern’s kindness. “But I’m under strict orders. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Lance pouts, deflating a bit beneath Hunk’s grip and allowing himself to be ushered in the direction of his room. Again. “Yeah, I know.”

The moments go by too quickly: Hunk settling Lance back in his bed, quick reminders to finish today’s exams, the eventuality of Hunk’s departure. It’s nothing unusual, but as of late, Lance seems to find himself less accepting of it, less willing. There’s no reason to be; nothing in his regimented but otherwise perfectly adequate life says that he should be _expecting_ more, _wanting_ more. And yet.

Lance flops himself backwards onto the bed, eyes scanning the ceiling tiles as he thinks.

For a while now, he’s been plagued by a thought. Well, not so much a thought as a _feeling_. It settles beneath his breastbone every time he’s alone, encompasses his mind to the point of swarming, making it hard to focus on little else. And he’s been having problems focusing enough as it is.

The problem is… he has no idea what this feeling is.

With a groan, Lance scrambles back into a seated position, grabbing his data pad from beneath his pillow in the same motion. He plops it into his lap and activates the holo-drive, scanning the main page with a frown. He doesn’t have much access to the mainframe, a “necessity” put in place by Shiro four months and twelve days ago, but he does have access to a rather extended vocabulary data bank for reference during his exams.

So, after bringing up the mainframe and activating the database, he types in a few questions, trying his best to formulate what it is that’s been on the forefront of his mind.

_Why do I associate solitude with negative emotions?_

Too complex, apparently, the database offering barely any assistance. So Lance tries again.

_Alone, anxiety, lack of desire._

This time the database produces a few words that seem to fit, but nothing feels quite right, nothing striking the same sort of chord that a newly discovered piece of vocabulary usually does. So he tries one more time, probably a little petulantly.

_I don’t want to be alone._

This time, amidst a slew of other responses, lay the definition of a word Lance has yet to learn, a perfectly reasonable word that seems absurd for him not to have known already.

 **Loneliness:** _(noun)  
1\. sadness because one has no friends or company  
2\. (of a place) the quality of being unfrequented and remote; isolation_

Lance soaks in the information like he does most things, letting it filter into his mind and acclimate, adjusting everything he’s known from before that point to accommodate the new knowledge. Except, where learning something new is usually met with excitement and a sense of accomplishment, this discovery sits heavy and stale almost instantly.

Isolation. Sadness. No friends or company.

Lance instantly hates his new word, hates everything that comes with it. When he closes his data pad, letting the holographic keyboard flicker out, Lance decides that loneliness is currently his least favorite state of being.

As much as he loves being alive, and as much as he’s grateful to his caretakers for this fact… to quote Hunk, “sometimes it really kinda sucks.”


	4. Hunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk didn't sign up for this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet, and finally a little backstory.

He’s not sure how long he stands outside of Dr. Shirogane’s office, but it takes a pathetically long time before Hunk works up the courage to knock on the door. After a year and half, he figures he’d be better at interacting with his superiors, but they all seem so distant, so far removed from what an intern should be allowed casual access to. Not that this is casual, he reminds himself. This is about Lance. This is business.

“Come in,” Dr. Shirogane’s voice echoes from the other side of the door the moment Hunk’s knuckles touch wood. Hunk can’t help the involuntary startle, willing himself to portray a sense of confidence he doesn’t feel when he finally opens the door and steps inside.

“Dr. Shirogane?” Hunk starts, familiar protocol. Also familiar is the way Dr. Shirogane sighs, an exasperated grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Hunk,” he runs a hand through his hair, the stark white of his bangs seeming to have spread over the course of the year. Poor guy won’t have any black hair left by the end of his tenure. “I keep telling you to call me Shiro.”

“Sorry, Dr. Shiroga- Um. Sorry, Shiro,” Hunk scrambles to correct himself, not for the first time. “It’s just weird, you know? Superior-subordinate relationships and all.”

“It’s been a year and a half.”

Hunk just smirks. “The academy prides itself on eradicating bad habits.”

At this, Shiro can’t seem to help but laugh, shaking his head. “I remember those days. But you’re not at the academy anymore, Hunk. Far from it.”

“Boy do I know it,” Hunk sighs, instantly reminded of the last year and a half of surprises and struggles he’d had no way to prepare himself for. Thousands of jobs came out of Garrison Academy every year, all variety of occupations from space travel to agricultural sciences. Hunk had enrolled as an engineer, pulled a steady 4.0 the entire four years, but after graduation, had found himself with only a single offer.

Altea Corp came with glowing recommendations from the Academy, his professors singing nothing but praises over the internship. Problem was, as far as research went, Hunk had managed to uncover little more than the average tagline. 

_Top of the Line in Robotics Engineering._

_Unprecedented Opportunities_

_Lucrative Fieldwork Experience_

Turns out, when grilled, even his most casual professors knew little to none about what the corporation actually did. The jobs that opened up once an internship there had been fulfilled, however? Now _that_ was a different story.

So Hunk had taken it. Within twenty-four hours, he’d signed himself over to the most amazing, terrifying, and frustrating project of his life. It was a life changer that he intended to make a name for himself with, and once he’d been sworn to secrecy (via a multitude of contracts that could literally ruin his future career in the industry if broken) he’d been given full access.

How was he supposed to know that would mean playing babysitter to a literal robot?

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Dr. Shirogane asks eventually, rousing Hunk back to the present.

“Right,” he says, pulling his data pad from his pocket and scrolling through his most recent notes. “It’s about Lance.”

“Expectedly,” Dr. Shirogane exhales, tapping a brief rhythm on his desk with the fingers of his prosthetic. What with Lance’s design, it shouldn’t really surprise Hunk that the technology here would exist for such an advanced model as his. However, it still amazes the engineer in him to see the man utilize it so fluidly, as if his nerves are connected directly to each joint. Or as if Dr. Shirogane hadn’t lost the arm at all.

Hunk hadn’t been around at the time, but it’s hard not to be aware of the Meltdown of Lance 5.0, an incident that had ended not just in the amputation of Dr. Shirogane’s arm and scarring of his face, but also in the pulling out of many of the company’s private sponsors. Altea Corp has been struggling ever since, their last major investor barely holding on by a thread, if the rumors going around are true.

So it’s perfectly reasonable that Dr. Shirogane looks completely exhausted, and more than a little bit reluctant when he asks, “What did Lance do this time?”

“This isn’t really about anything he _did_ ,” Hunk starts off carefully, fiddling with his data pad. “More like just something I noticed.” It’s obvious in his expression that Dr. Shirogane intends to wait for him to go on, so Hunk pulls up his list of the day’s notes without preamble.

“At first I thought it was parroting,” Hunk starts, scanning back to a few weeks prior. He hands Dr. Shirogane the device as he explains, words picking up speed the longer he talks. “Like when a child learns a new word and uses it all the time even when it’s redundant or doesn’t make sense. Sometimes Lance’s programs will work like that, you know? Overusing new information simply because it’s new, like listening to a song too many times because you’re so excited to have found new music. Which I guess kind of applies to my point, because even if he might not _know_ what the word means, which I’m pretty sure he does, he’s started showing consistent _signs_ of it. Like, it’s started to show up in his scans even, and when I double checked the original Lance 9.0 design matrix, it’s obvious the new algorithm updates have drastically altered his viewpoint in a way we-”

“Hunk,” Dr. Shirogane cuts him off abruptly. It’s only then that Hunk realizes he hasn’t taken a breath, his words sputtering to a stop as his lungs sputter for air. He does that sometimes when he’s excited or nervous; he knows that. But it’s all just so fascinating, he can’t help but get carried away. That doesn’t stop the rising heat in his cheeks as Dr. Shirogane lifts a hand in exasperation though. “Slow down for me, alright?” Hunk nods and despite the lingering atmosphere of obvious annoyance, Dr. Shirogane still smiles, aiming for comfort over chiding. “Now, how about we go for something more concise?”

“Right,” Hunk clears his throat, willing himself to focus on the main objective rather than the more distracting details. “I guess the best way to put it would be… Lance has been getting antsy.” Hunk walks around to the side of Dr. Shirogane’s desk and quickly highlights a couple of passages on his data pad, the information flickering to life in the empty space between them. “Since the last update, he’s used the term “bored” in no less than fifteen instances, started taking the initiative to teach himself new skills in at least fifty percent of those instances-”

“Like gymnastics,” Dr. Shirogane cuts in, reading one of Hunk’s reports from recently.

“That was last week, yeah.”

“And juggling.”

“That was today.”

“So he… accessed a Cirque de Soleil video off the archives and now he wants to join the circus?”

Even with the noticeably teasing tone to his voice, Hunk can tell Dr. Shirogane is surprised, if not a tad bit concerned. Hunk chuckles politely, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t even think Lance knows why he’s doing half the stuff he’s doing, to be honest,” he shrugs, swiping out of the holo screen and taking back his data pad. “It’s like his new improv feature is making it impossible for him to go idle. If he’s not doing or learning something new, he gets bored in minutes, _seconds_ even. It’s almost like he physically can’t-”

“Oh my god,” Dr. Shirogane huffs out a laugh, burying his head in the metal of his prosthetic hand for a moment.

“Sir?” Hunk startles a little, reaching forward on instinct. But Dr. Shirogane just waves him away, chuckling to himself a bit more before raising his head. His smile is self deprecating if anything, even if his eyes seem unable to hide their genuine amusement.

“We gave the poor kid ADHD,” he says eventually, and Hunk can’t help but suck in a breath, because yeah. It kinda sounds like they did. Well shit. Before Hunk can start theorizing possible adaptations to the newly discovered data, however, Dr. Shirogane gets to his feet, placing a hand on Hunk’s shoulder as he does, an overly friendly gesture. Hunk can’t help but tense.

“Don’t worry about any damaging side effects just yet. Allura has new directives set in place to handle it.”

“So… You already knew?” Hunk asks, a bit stunned. Dr. Shirogane just smirks.

“To an extent, but this information only verifies her assessment. So thank you, Hunk.” 

Hunk nods, watching as Dr. Shirogane heads out of the office, pausing just long enough to motion for Hunk to follow.

“Lance should be heading in for a quick update as we speak,” he explains as they walk. “So in the meantime, I want you to look over the protocols for your new assignment. We sent them to your personal account.”

“New assignment?” Hunk echoes, feeling oddly dizzy by how quickly they’ve switched gears. Dr. Shirogane just continues to usher him along, laughing softly.

“Nothing you’re not already used to,” he says. “Don’t worry. Consider it more of a recon mission.”

Which is how Hunk ends up downtown, tailing an overeager robot prototype as it all but skips down the street, too many feet ahead for comfort.

Perfect. More babysitting.

For what already feels like the millionth time, Hunk pulls his data pad from his pocket, reading and rereading the information packet he’d been linked. All of the Do’s and Don’t’s for Lance’s daily strolls around the city.

-Remain within close proximity.

-Integrate as many social cues as possible.

-Consumption of any outside substances prohibited.

-Human interactions a must.

That last one scares Hunk most. Hunk isn’t exactly a good liar, and if someone starts to become suspicious, he knows he isn’t exactly the most well equipped to get them off the corporation’s tail. But still.

Hunk glances up from his data pad, watching as Lance looks all around, at the florist’s across the street, the towering skyscrapers off in the distance. His face is open and awed, filled with a wonder that Hunk will never understand, and despite the lingering anxiety, Hunk can’t deny it. He feels happy for the kid. As strange as it sounds, considering.

For a few blissful moments, Hunk just watches Lance stroll. He has his hands buried in the pockets of the blue hoodie they’ve provided for him, and that combined with the standard jeans and sneakers makes him look more human than Hunk has ever seen him. It’s almost surreal, like, if Hunk tries hard enough, he’ll be able to convince himself that Lance actually is human, and that everything he’s seen at the facility so far has been nothing but a dream.

Of course, as if spurned by the thought, Lance chooses this exact moment to gasp loudly and in overdramatic exuberance.

“Hunk, Hunk, look!” He shouts, pointing at something across the street. Hunk follows the line of his finger until his eyes catch on a pet store. Every possible catastrophe runs through his head at the thought, but before he can even respond, Lance has already gotten halfway across the street in its direction. Thankfully, he doesn’t choose to go inside, stopping at the store window to place hands and face against the glass. “Look at them!” He practically squeals, nose smooshed.

And it’s such a ridiculous and adorable display that, despite his still frayed nerves, Hunk can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, buddy,” he says, pulling Lance away from the glass just enough to save his nose. “They’re pretty cute.”

In the cages are at least ten different kittens, a sign in the window saying that all adoptions for the litter are discounted until the end of the month.

“Hunk,” Lance whispers, in awe, fingers moving just barely against the glass as if he’s subconsciously trying to pet them. Though the idea of Lance “subconsciously” trying to do anything is something that Hunk does not want to think about. “Hunk, can I have one?”

The near pleading sound to his voice tugs at Hunk’s heartstrings, but even without an explicit order, he’s pretty sure that’s against protocol. So despite the way he knows it’ll probably make Lance sad, he still says, “’Fraid not, buddy. Probably not good to have pets at the institute. We’re trying to keep you healthy, remember?”

“I know,” Lance pouts, words laced with a pitiful sounding whine. Involuntarily, Hunk finds himself imagining his younger sister, her puppy dog eyes and jutted out lip. “But that one in front. See it? There? With the big blue eyes? She wants me to take her home. She needs me.”

Lance is staring at a too-small, American Shorthair with striped, black and grey fur. Its eyes are a piercing sky blue, and it stares at Lance like a bowl of cream might be hidden behind his back.

Again, Hunk feels his heart clench, his chest tight with the conflicting signals telling him to either do his job or make Lance happy, never the twain shall meet. “Someone else will adopt her, Lance. It’s okay. She won’t go without a home, I promise.” Because the Institute pays his paychecks and they’d fire him on the spot if Lance came back with a kitten.

It takes a while, a creepy silence made creepier by Lance’s inhuman stillness, before Lance’s body sags, a breath of defeated disappointment blowing past his still pouting lips. “Yeah, okay,” he says, bringing his hand down on the glass to brush over an area right in front of his chosen cat’s face. “Be happy, Blue,” he whispers, close enough again that his breath should make a stripe of fog appear on the glass, but it doesn’t. Then, without another word, Lance huffs out an almost petulant sound, shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and straightens up.

Before the silence can stretch too long this time, Hunk clears his throat. “Blue?” he asks, aiming for somewhere in the vicinity of inquisitive and apologetic. Lance just shrugs, but his pout recedes a bit, so Hunk considers it a win.

“I would have named her Blue, maybe. For her eyes,” Lance says after a moment.

And then, as if a switch flips, Lance’s eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise before stretching into such a wide grin across his face, Hunk wonders if some damage might be done to his synthetic skin. Just as quickly as his mood has shifted, Lance turns around and bolts across the street, Hunk’s heart jumping into his throat.

“Lance!” He shouts, following after him as quickly as he can. “Stop doing that!”

Luckily, Lance doesn’t run far, stopping at a café across the road where multiple groups of people are gathered at tables outside. In fact, as Hunk gets closer, he notices Lance stopped at a table in particular, one with a rather stunned looking couple trying their best to follow Lance’s rambling enthusiasm. The girl is unfamiliar, with a mess of mousy, brown hair and glasses too big for her face, but the boy strikes a chord in Hunk’s memory.

Black hair hanging low below his ears, East Asian, about what Lance’s programmed age might be. The kid from the day before, at the diner.

“Keith!” Lance bounces a bit on the balls of his feet, hands gripping at the edge of the kids’ table. “I’m so happy to see you again!”

“Lance?” Keith frowns, looking from Lance to his friend and back. Hunk blinks, surprised that this Keith boy even remembers Lance’s name. Had Lance really made that much of an impression? Was that a good or bad thing if he had? “What are you doing here?”

“They let me out!” Lance straightens, smiling proudly, and Hunk can’t help but run a hand over his face. Because that doesn’t sound good at all, does it? As the girl with the glasses seems to instantly pick up on.

“Let you out?” She raises an eyebrow, gaze narrowing in on Lance and Hunk in turn. “Keith, who are these guys?” Then, something seems to dawn on her, eyes drifting back to Lance. “Is this the guy that shoulder checked you yesterday? The weird one from the diner?”

“Weird…” Lance blinks, and Hunk desperately starts to sift through his memory of Lance’s updated vocab drive. Does he know what weird means? If he does, will his reaction be positive or negative? As is usually the case with Lance, Hunk is torn between intrigued and terrified at the prospect. Thankfully (or unfortunately?) Hunk doesn’t get a chance to see, Keith choosing to ignore his friend in favor of focusing on Hunk. 

The boy’s stare is so intense, Hunk has to stifle a feeling of intimidation. If he really is about as old as Lance would be, that would make Hunk at least five years older than him. So despite the suspicious, almost defensive glare directed his way, Hunk straightens his back and stares right back.

“What’s he doing here?” Keith asks, motioning with his chin in Lance’s direction. Hunk looks between the two boys, noticing that Lance’s full attention is still locked excitedly on Keith, the definition of “weird” already lost to the sheer newness of the situation. “Yesterday, it was like you’d been hunting Lance down. Now you’re just “letting him out,” whatever that means? What changed?”

If Hunk didn’t know better, he’d almost say the brunt of the suspicion wasn’t _by_ Lance, but _for_ Lance. Despite himself, Hunk can’t help smiling, shaking his head in surprise. “That’s thanks to you actually,” Hunk gives in, reveling in the way Keith’s irritated expression instantly morphs to one of surprise. His friend still looks suspicious enough for the both of them though.

“Me?” Keith balks. “What did I do? He didn’t eat the spaghetti.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow at him. It takes him a moment to remember the little display at the diner, the panic he’d felt at the possibility of Lance ruining his internal framework with noodles and sauce. But that Keith had heard, or Lance had said-- Hunk can’t help busting out laughing. This time, even Lance looks taken aback for a second, though his awed smile doesn’t lessen all that much.

“Don’t worry, dude,” Hunk says through the remaining chuckles. “This has nothing to do with spaghetti. It has more to do with how well you two interacted when Lance ran away yesterday.”

Hunk took a breath, looking from Lance to Keith, and to his friend in turn. Now was the time to lie.

“Lance has been living at a medical institute since he was little,” he explained, reciting the curated backstory from the informational packet nearly word for word. “He suffers from an illness that only until recently has been incurable. He still requires the presence of medical personnel at all times, but thanks to the lack of issue with Lance’s little stunt yesterday, the Institute has determined that he’s healthy enough for day trips.”

“So now I get to go outside!” Lance exclaims, looking like he’s an improv update away from fist pumping the air. He’s also looking directly at Keith as he says it, and Hunk swears he sees the Asian boy’s cheeks flare bright red. Interesting.

“Wait, wait, hold up,” the still unnamed friend of Keith’s crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing Lance up and down. The gaze is distinctly analytical, and Hunk feels a forgotten anxiety begin to bloom low in his chest. He recognizes that stare; this girl, albeit maybe seven years or so his junior, has the gaze of a scientist, possibly even an engineer like himself. He’s suddenly wracked with the irrational desire to not let this girl get too close a look at Lance, even though his biomech anatomy is foolproof. Hunk helped design Lance 9.0 personally; he would fool even a master of AI and robotics design.

Still, the girl’s lingering gaze makes Hunk distinctly wary.

“What’s going on?” She asks, punching Keith in the arm to get his attention. “What’s the institute? And who’s this guy’s handler? You know I don’t do missing variables.”

Hunk dives in quickly, holding a hand out in the girl’s direction, hoping to steal back her focus with casualties. “I’m Hunk Garrett, medical intern at the Institute where Lance is being treated.”

“Pidge,” the girl says curtly, still analyzing him, though she does take his hand in a quick shake. “And he said your name is Lance?” Pidge looks over to Lance with a furrowed brow, but interestingly, he’s still looking at Keith when he replies.

“Lance McClain,” he says, and then points right at Keith. “And you’re Keith Kogane.”

If Hunk thought Keith’s blush had been prominent before, it’s doubly so now. Enough that even Pidge seems to notice, her lips pulling up in a mischievous smirk. Hunk doesn’t envy Keith their friendship one bit; poor boy must not get away with anything. And his diginty’s definitely not getting out of this one unscathed by the looks of it.

“Yeah,” Pidge says, leaning forward on her elbow, looking from Keith to Lance and back. “And how do you two know each other so well already, huh?”

Now, Lance looks over to Pidge with an expression so proud and fond that Hunk almost chokes. “He took me out to lunch,” Lance replies, and Hunk swears Keith is about to have an aneurism.

“It wasn’t-!” He tries, but Pidge just continues to stare him down with a knowing look and a smirk that speaks of untold evils.

As amusing as the whole exchange is, however, leaving Lance in a conversation with the same people for too long makes him nervous. So, with a quick check on the time, and a verification email of all followed protocols sent back to the Institute, Hunk finally interjects.

“It’s about time I got Lance back home.”

Lance’s distracted look of enthusiasm shatters instantly.

“No, Hunk!” Lance turns towards him with an expression bordering on betrayal. “We’ve only been outside for one-hundred and ninety-two minutes! That can’t possibly be long enough, right?”

Hunk cringes at the unnatural use of temporal measurement, but does his best to keep Lance from overreacting, even going so far as to place an arm around his shoulders to calm him down. It’s something he’s been analyzing, but as of yet can’t quite pin down; Lance’s response to touch has grown increasingly more human with every update. Not quite necessary or touch starved, but well received and almost eager.

“I’m sure you’ll get to see Keith again soon, buddy, don’t worry,” Hunk says, not realizing the implications of his words until it’s too late.

Lance breaks free of his hold with an excited gasp and looks to Keith, an expression pulling at his features that is filled with more hope than should be humanly possible. Probably _isn’t_ humanly possible.

“You mean it?” He asks not Hunk, but _Keith_. Keith startles, leaning back in his seat just as Lance leans forward, completely oblivious to the poor boy’s personal space. Probably should add that to the next update if these outings are going to continue.

Which apparently they intend to, considering that before Hunk has a chance to interject, Keith opens his mouth and surprises them all.

“Uh, sure?” 

The words shock everyone but Lance, who seems too thrilled by the concept to notice the looks of confusion and disbelief consuming the rest of the table. The most shocked seems to be Keith, who looks as though the words had made a detour past his brain entirely and escaped of their own accord. And despite what Hunk would have thought possible, even with his years of experience in coding microexpressions, Pidge manages to look caught somewhere between stunned, amused, and furious. It’s almost impressive.

If the situation weren’t already a second away from irreparable, he’d probably ask to take a picture for his file.

But considering he’s already on thin ice with the whole ordeal, he ignores the desire for new reference material and snags Lance by the back of the collar, hauling him away from where he’s inched himself much, much too close to Keith’s overwhelmed face. 

“How about this?” Hunk hurriedly tries to regain control of the situation and escape with their suspicions (especially the whip-smart looking Pidge’s) as minimal as possible. Keeping a hand on Lance’s shoulder and forcing him into his side, he offers what he hopes is a casual, “Let’s exchange contact info, I’ll run it by Lance’s doctor, and we’ll see what we can do.” It would be good to have more information on this object of Lance’s attention at the very least, even if the idea of handling another of these meet ups gives Hunk an instant stress headache.

Keith doesn’t immediately respond to Hunk’s offer, which makes sense considering the way Pidge hasn’t stopped staring holes into the side of his face. But Keith’s eyes haven’t left Lance’s excited face for a single moment either, and the longer he stares, the more Lance begins to subtly vibrate with what can only be hopefulness against Hunk’s side. Not a singular emotion, but steadily building one in the face of anticipation. Hunk has to force back the instant desire to log that into his notes.

Even a scientist and engineer as himself can see how these day trips will only benefit their records (especially with a constant variable like Keith in play) but that doesn’t stop Hunk’s stomach from dropping in trepidation the moment Keith reaches into his pocket for his cell.

“Keith.” Pidge hisses at his side, but Keith is now staring vehemently at his phone, bringing up an empty contact page and sliding it across the table without a word. Hunk grabs it, typing his personal cell number into the box and setting the contact name as Lance and Hunk, then calls himself. Once Keith’s number comes up on the screen, he pushes the phone back in his direction.

When Keith glances up to reclaim it, a blush still lingers in light pink splotches across his cheeks. But his eyes are determined. For some reason, it makes the uneasy feeling in Hunk’s stomach lessen some. Which probably means the stress has gotten to him and he needs to leave the vicinity with Lance in tow ASAP.

“We’ll be in contact with you, Keith,” Hunk says as politely and friendly as possible despite the fight or flight buzzing beneath his skin. Still, he forces an equally as cordial look in Pidge’s direction. “You too, I hope.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, but shrugs. When she crosses her arms across her chest without a word in actual reply, Hunk can’t help but huff in amusement. Apparently the girl is analytical, skeptical, but also fiercely protective, and considering Hunk has no reason to have (or even gain) her trust, the best he can do is smile and hold a hand up in placating understanding. Pidge blinks, momentarily stunned, before a smirk pulls almost reluctantly at the corner of her mouth.

As much a success as he could hope for with the girl, really.

“All right, buddy. Time to go,” Hunk eventually takes the lead again, placing a hand on the small of Lance’s back to turn him away from the table. It works but only just, Lance practically folding himself in half to see over his own shoulder. 

“Bye, Keith Kogane!” He shouts, even though they’re only a few feet away. “Bye, Keith’s friend Pidge! I’ll see you again soon, okay? You promised!”

Hunk sighs, headache swiftly forming as he pushes Lance down the road back towards the Institute a bit more quickly. 

This is going to be a long assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who've actually been reading, thank you for humoring me. And to my lone commenter so far on this journey: you are a blessing. Thank you.


	5. Pidge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge is as perceptive as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's as about as much consistency in posting this fic as there is for me writing it... so for all of those who actually like and/or care about the story. I'm sorry. I'll try to get it all out eventually, but I can't promise when that will happen.

After the first hour, it’s impossible to miss just how much Pidge’s silence is grating on Keith’s nerves, but the idiot knows how much accurate data means to her, and it’s quite clear that he’s been keeping a damn lot of it to himself. Especially in regards to this _Lance_ character.

And boy, what an interesting character. It’s almost annoying how interesting he is, not just as a person, but as a _situation_. Who is he? What illness does he have? Where is he being kept exactly? The Institute is what his medic had called, but that stands to offer as many questions as answers. Is the Institute well known in the medical community? Is it like a homestay for people with specific chronic illnesses or more of a research facility? She’s running on barely any information at all really, trying to rack her brain for something Keith might have mentioned beyond, “The guy who shoulder checked me,” or, “The dude has a babysitter, I don’t know.”

Which is another thing entirely. Hunk Garrett. His ID had said Medical Staff Intern, but what exactly does that make him? Is Keith right in thinking his primary position at the Institute is caring for Lance? And if so, does that mean Lance is so sick he needs constant care? Or is it something else? What does this Hunk actually gain from the situation? What does he offer to it?

All and all, Pidge has been wrapped up in her own brain with these circling thoughts for the entirety of their walk back to their apartment, and not necessarily intentionally. Though Keith kind of deserves it.

“So what? You’re just going to pretend like what happened back there was normal?” Pidge says the moment the front door is closed behind her. Keith actually startles, probably expecting her to take her silent treatment all the way back to her room. But as much as Keith’s withholding of potentially juicy information annoys the living hell out of her, she’s much too curious to let this conversation pass her by. Which is why, when Keith only frowns in response, turning with hunched shoulders towards the fridge and throwing it open with way too much force, Pidge starts to do what she does best. 

She wheedles.

“You just offered to be a rando’s indefinite playdate. You don’t think that’s weird?”

Keith’s shoulder’s tense but he doesn’t turn around, sifting through what Pidge knows to be nowhere near as much food as he’s pretending to debate over. He does offer her the courtesy of a clipped, “It’s not a playdate,” in response, however.

“Okay. Regular date then,” Pidge smirks, and this time, Keith nearly drops a container of week old potato salad. He replaces it on the shelf and turns around then, bumping the fridge door closed with his hip. 

“It’s not that either.”

“Then what is it, Keith?” Pidge narrows her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest; Keith dutifully accepts the staredown with one of his own. “Because from where I’m standing, you just agreed to play chaperone to some guy you don’t even know, and why? Because he’s cute? Because you don’t know how to say no to pretty blue puppy dog eyes?” She doesn’t give Keith a chance to respond before nailing her argument home. “Or are you just that desperate for a chance to run again?”

If Pidge weren’t scrutinizing Keith’s face, she might have missed the slight quirk fo his eyebrows, the momentary flash of pain in his eyes, but Keith is nothing if not resilient, and it’s gone almost instantly.

“I’m not running,” he spits out like the word has personally offended him, which she hopes it has. “I’m suspended anyway. What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, study? Community service? Get back in the dean’s good graces so she’s not looking for any opportunity to expell you when you get back?”

A shroud of indifference seems to fall over Keith’s shoulders, his chin even tilting up in defiance. “I mean, who’s to say what I’m doing isn’t community service?”

Pidge doesn’t even bother to hold back the over exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Oh, is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

“Ha ha,” Keith deadpans, returning his focus to the fridge. He pulls a thing of orange juice and proceeds to drink a large swig directly from the carton. Vindictive prick. “Who knows how long Lance has been cooped up in whatever hospital he’s at? He deserves a chance to get out and see the world, you know? Or at least the boardwalk. I mean, you should have seen him, Pidge. He was looking at that plate of spaghetti like it was the fucking Mona Lisa. Wherever he’s being kept is suffocating him, and if I can help him escape, even for a little while, shouldn’t I do that?”

“See, that’s just it!” Pidge huffs, throwing her arms up in exasperation before letting them fall heavily to her sides. “You talk about this guy like you’re his friend or… or his savior or something. But what do you really know about him? What do either of us really know about him?”

“Maybe I want to find out?” Keith mumbles before he can stop himself, his cheeks instantly dusting pink at the admission. Pidge stares at him for a good long moment before letting out a deep, world weary sigh, rubbing at her eyes beneath her glasses with both hands.

“I knew you were gay, but I didn’t realize you were a Disaster Gay.”

“Fuck you,” Keith sniffs, and even with stars still popping behind her eyes, Pidge can see the way his cheeks burn darker at the comment. He probably wouldn’t admit it, but Keith had it bad for this boy, whether Pidge approved of it or not. She could see it in his defensive posture, had seen it in the way Keith’s eyes couldn’t seem to stop staring at the pretty Latino’s face from across the table. It almost made what she was about to say easier. Almost.

“So what are you going to do then? When you meet up with them tomorrow, are you just going to play it by ear?” Keith blinks, not quite following, and Pidge rolls her eyes so hard she momentarily thinks they’re going to completely detach from her optic nerve. “You can’t go into something like this half-cocked. If you’re as hell bent on following this through as you claim to be, you have to have a game plan. For example: We don’t even know what type of illness he has or how it might be impacted by whatever it is the two of you are doing.”

“Pidge,” Keith warns, even though the blush has yet to leave his face. Pidge just tuts, marking her examples on each finger.

“I’m not being dirty, I’m being logical. What if he can’t be in the hot sun for too long? Or what if he passes out from exhaustion? What if he’s allergic to whatever food you guys go eat for lunch? Do you know anything about CPR and resuscitation? Dude has a medic that follows him around, for god’s sake. Don’t you think that means the guy needs extra care that only someone with training can really offer?”

The more Pidge talks, the more Keith’s face falls, his eyes widening under the realization that he really, obviously, has no idea what he’s set himself up for.

“Oh god…” he eventually stammers once Pidge has taken a moment to breathe. His fingers have found purchase in his hair, tugging just lightly in what Pidge can tell is the beginnings of panic. “I don’t know the first thing about medical care, Pidge! What if I accidentally kill him?”

A bit over dramatic, but at least now he’s not being naively confident about this whole mess. Still, the mild hyperventilating grates on Pidge’s conscience, so she walks forward to place a hand on his shoulder, willing the tension there to lessen.

“You won’t kill him. That Hunk guy will still be there, right?”

“But what if Hunk has to go to the restroom or something and Lance has a heart attack while he’s gone?” Keith continues to panic, and Pidge can practically see the irrational fear growing in his eyes. “What if Lance is allergic to my deodorant and he asphyxiates before Hunk can administer an EpiPen? What if…” And here, Keith’s voice drops along with his hands, hair falling limp around his shoulders as his arms fall limp to his sides. “What if Lance is just using me as an excuse to get out of the Institute more?” He leans bodily against the counter, eyes conflicted and torn. “What if _I’m_ the rando that was just in the right place at the right time and Lance is just taking advantage of the situation?”

For a long moment, Pidge tries to convince herself that Keith is just messing with her, that there’s no way he’s this smitten this quickly. But Keith’s nothing if not a shitty actor, and that look in his eyes is borderline heartbreaking. So Pidge squeezes his shoulder and sighs.

“Nice to know that asphyxiation and rejection both carry the same weight for you,” she offers with a smirk. It does the trick, Keith’s brow softening some as he shoves her in jest. 

Clearly she’s handling this the wrong way. If Keith wants to do this, whatever this may be, then it’s up to Pidge to make sure he doesn’t have a mental (or emotional) breakdown.

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about on that front anyway,” she says, heading into the living room to boot up her computer. She plops herself down in front of it, the worn couch cushions sinking low even beneath her tiny frame. “The way that boy was looking at you earlier? I’m pretty sure he thinks you shit rainbows.”

It takes a second for Keith to follow, and when he does, it’s with a hope in his eyes so pronounced it makes Pidge want to vomit. Ugh. The things she puts up with for friendship. She pulls up one of her Incognito tabs and starts loading a familiar program.

“I’m not gonna lie and say that he also seemed incredibly sheltered and eager to be away from whatever the Institute is, but he also seemed genuinely interested in his time outside being with _you_ , so. I’m gonna bet the feelings here are mutual.”

“You really think so?” Keith hums, settling himself down next to Pidge and blatantly ignoring her unamused stare. He’s also no longer denying his main motivation for this endeavor though, so she considers it a success.

“Yes, Keith. I really think so. But that doesn’t diminish the fact that you know nothing about him or his illness, let alone the Institute where they’re keeping him.” Keith frowns, hard pressed to argue with Pidge’s logic. She smirks. “Which is why, I’ve taken it upon myself to do a little digging.”

For the first time in a while, Keith seems to force his way out of his own head, eyes scanning Pidge’s laptop screen with interest.

“How do you even know where to look?” Keith asks, both genuinely interested and with his usual brand of unintentional patronizing. Pidge shoots him a look that says, _Bitch Please_ , and pulls Keith’s phone from her pocket, waving it in front of his face.

“You have that Hunk guy’s phone number, remember?” 

Keith pats around his pockets before frowning. “When did you pickpocket my cell?”

“When you weren’t looking, obviously.” Pidge pulls up Hunk’s contact info and goes about plugging it into one of the now four programs she currently has running under constantly fluctuating IPs. “If I can cross reference this with the personnel files from every medical database in the general area, I should at the very least be able to pull up the name of this mystery Institute. Then, once we have a name, we can cross check with various medical procedures on file, patient records, whatever we need to get a decent understanding of what Lance is currently going through. That way you’re not going in blind.”

Keith watches Pidge’s fingers fly across the keyboard, eyes wide and voice a mix of impressed and grateful as he says, “Thanks, Pidge. I really appreciate it.”

“You can make it up to me by not getting expelled,” she says dismissively, one of the programs already grabbing her attention with a soft ping. “All right. Let’s see what we got.” She pulls up the information and frowns, leaning forward as if it might help her understand what she’s seeing. Or rather, what she’s not.

“Um...” Keith frowns right along with her, something Pidge only sees from the periphery, her eyes too busy scanning the practically empty page of data. “Is that normal?”

In lieu of answering Keith’s rhetorical question, Pidge mumbles, “The number isn’t associated with… anything.” Which doesn’t make sense. Every phone number has a digital past that can be accessed, a chronological pathway that can be followed. Previous calls, organizational links. Hell, the Cloud is a literal goldmine of personal information, each downloaded app offers a veritable surplus of documented security from credit card info to bio-metric fingerprints. But this phone could be an old Nokia 3310 for all that Pidge’s preliminary hacking can find. It doesn’t even seem to have an associated contact’s list; the thing might as well be a burner phone.

It does, however, have a recently deleted list of calls that it takes Pidge a good fifteen minutes of raising old files from the grave to find. Unfortunately, each number is met with the same fate. No connections, no personal information. Nothing.

“Weird,” Pidge mumbles to herself, even though weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. Hospitals are notorious for housing an overabundance of data; one of Pidge’s programs should be enough to make it burst like a geyser. But instead, she’s met with not only huge banks of empty space, but literal blocks in the datastream preventing her from accessing even a generalized location via invisible GPS locators.

Suddenly, as Pidge hunkers down, brow furrowed in aggravated determination, it becomes less about offering Keith peace of mind, and more about understanding exactly what sort of organization the Institute really is. So much so that, after a length of time completely unknown to her, she hears Keith’s bedroom door close; she hadn’t even noticed him get up from the couch. 

Probably for the best though. She isn’t exactly good company when she’s neck deep in a project, and the Institute has just become her most interesting one in a while. No regular organization has these kinds of intricate firewalls. In fact, she’s pretty sure she hasn’t seen security this in depth since she hacked into an FBI mainframe for her thesis on the lack of security infrastructure in America. And that one she’d managed to do in under an hour. When she manages to drag her eyes to the corner of her screen, it’s to find that she’s already been picking away at this one for three, barely anything to show for it beyond a vague digital encryption that seems to make absolutely no sense.

But if there’s something to be found, Pidge will find it. It’s what she does, what she’s good at. She just hopes she cracks whatever code they seem to be hiding before Keith gets in too deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who are humoring me in general, I adore you. To all those leaving comments, let me know when you want my first born child delivered.


	6. Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance promises to be on his best behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To any of you guys still interested at all in this, thank you so, so much. I was in a mental health slump for a hot minute and I'm finally finding the energy and motivation to write again. I don't know when I'll actually finish, but I'm not dropping it like some of my other projects. It's an idea that begged me to be written and I won't let it (or any of you) down. Just have patience with me.

The door to his room opens at exactly 11:03:51 am, and Lance is on his feet within seconds. His movements must be a bit jarring and unexpected considering the way Hunk startles, but the smile Lance has come to recognize as Kind is still settled comfortably across his face. Even if his eyes shift about with an emotion Lance probably hasn’t learned yet.

“Were you waiting for me, bud?” Hunk asks, closing the door behind him and walking over to the touch screen embedded in the far right wall. Lance nods even though he knows Hunk can’t see him.

“Yup!” He says as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the new pair of jeans Allura had brought for him earlier. They made him look younger, she’d said. Especially with the graphic t-shirt she’d paired them with. The words Daft Punk were scrawled across his chest, and after a couple of minutes of research, he’d learned that it was the name of a musical duo who performed annually and wore robotic attire that used digital displays to show emotion. It was fascinating. 

Though not nearly as fascinating as the current prospective before him. In fact, nothing could possibly be as fascinating or exciting, Lance decides, not when Hunk has come to join him on another journey beyond the Institute’s sterile walls. A journey where he’ll get to see Keith again. At the thought, excitement bubbles into physical representation throughout his body, causing him to bounce onto the balls of his feet, swing back a bit onto his heels. He tries to be patient as he waits for Hunk to finish signing him out, but it’s surprisingly difficult.

“All right, buddy,” Hunk eventually says, and Lance feels his lips stretch and cheeks raise at the sound of Hunk’s voice and the implication beneath it. They probably won’t be able to head out without a proper debriefing, but that doesn’t stop Lance’s heart rate from rising. Hunk must see something amusing on his face, because he chuckles softly to himself before continuing, tapping on a symbol at the bottom of the wall-screen to lock it. “I’ve already sent a message out to your new friend. He’ll be meeting us at the pier and we’ll go walking along the boardwalk, sound good?”

It doesn’t matter what they do as long as he gets to be outside with Keith again, Lance decides, but all he does is nod his head vehemently. For some reason, it feels like if he says the wrong thing, if he accidentally makes a mistake and forgets to follow the rules to the letter (as he often does nowadays, it seems) then this miraculous gift will be taken away. He can’t have that, not when it’s still so fresh and new, so he keeps diligent, listening intently as Hunk describes the various rules he needs to follow.

No wandering away. No eating anything. No talking to strangers unless approached first. No touching random people or things.

Lance nods along to each of these regulations until the last, something tugging at a vague curiosity somewhere in the back of his chest.

“Is Keith a random person?” Lance asks, cutting Hunk off in the middle of another regulation. At first, Hunk doesn’t seem to know how to respond, but eventually he frowns and sighs. 

“Well, no, but I wouldn’t just go around touching him either. The kid looks like someone who values his personal space.”

The words hold terminology that he has yet to acquire. Especially, “Personal Space?”

Here, Hunk chuckles, walking up to Lance and ruffling his hair. “See how close I am? That I’m touching you gently and with kindness?” Lance nods, feeling the way Hunk’s hand shifts on his head as he does so. The contact makes him happy. Will something like that make Keith happy too? The thought thrills him to his very core. “I’m currently within your personal space. I know I can do this because I know you won’t mind.”

It’s more than that to Lance, though he doesn’t quite know how to put it in words. “I want it,” he settles on after a brief thought, and Hunk’s eyes do that thing Lance is growing familiar with, like they don’t know whether to be happy or sad.

“I know, buddy. I know,” he says. “But some people don’t like being touched all the time like you do. Some people feel like being touched without permission, even kind and gentle touches like these--” He ruffles Lance’s hair once more before dropping that hand down to Lance’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “--Sometimes they can feel like their space is being invaded, and they don’t know how to react. It can make some people uncomfortable.”

Lance knows that word. He learned it one year, seven months, and fourteen days ago, when Allura had mentioned to him that he should practice blinking more, that it would help to make some of the staff a little less uncomfortable. He doesn’t like making people uncomfortable, he realizes. He likes making people happy. So he’d made sure to consciously blink every two and a half minutes, a policy he still follows to this day.

Blinking more consistently won’t solve this potential problem though.

“Do I make Keith uncomfortable?” Lance asks, the idea filling him with an onslaught of negative emotions that Hunk seems to notice instantly, worry seeping into his happy/sad gaze and arms rising at once to pull Lance into a fierce hug. Lance melts into it easily, the physical contact and calming gesture settling whatever might have been brewing at the center of his chest.

“No, buddy, no,” Hunk soothes, and Lance lets him easily, heart slowing and mind settling with every word Hunk whispers into his hair. “Keith seems to really like you. Why would he be meeting up with us today if he didn’t want to be your friend? Just… try remembering to ask before giving him a hug or standing too close, okay? I think it’ll make him more comfortable.”

Comfortable. The opposite of uncomfortable. 

He can do that. 

Lance nods again, forehead pressing into the crook of Hunk’s neck and shoulder. Seemingly satisfied with that, Hunk pulls out of the embrace and throws Lance a Thumbs Up. Which Lance eagerly reciprocates.

“All right then. Ready for your second field trip?”

“Yes!” Lance shouts, jumping up and down once, clapping his hands, and grinning as widely as his cheeks will allow, all things he’s learned to associate with happiness and excitement. Hunk stares at him for a long moment, first in shock, then in amusement, a burst of laughter escaping him before he swallows it back, shaking his head with a sigh. He seems to be doing that a lot lately, though Lance doesn’t have the necessary information to understand why just yet.

“Better not keep your friend waiting then,” Hunk continues to chuckle softly to himself as he finally unlocks Lance’s door and leads him into the hall.

That’s the second time Hunk has called Keith his friend. Lance has only ever had one before, and while he believes Hunk when he proclaims himself as such, Keith’s friendship feels different. Maybe it’s because Lance has found it by himself, picked it out of a spontaneous situation and called it his own.

Either way, he’s determined to cherish it.

The walk to the pier is very similar to the day before, Hunk leading him with a steady pace and careful attention to Lance’s surroundings. They pass many of the same storefronts and landscaping that he remembers, though the people seemed to have changed drastically. In fact, as Lance scans each passerby’s face, leaning in towards some to get a closer look despite Hunk’s chiding, he can find no resemblance to any pedestrian of his memories.

All of these people are new. And there are so, _so_ many.

He hadn’t given it much thought during his first impromptu trip outside of the Institute, considering the overwhelming barrage of information he’d taken in before meeting and hyperfocusing on Keith. And while he’d committed each face he’d passed the day before to memory, it was purely out of habit, motivated by a sense of generalized expectation that he’d see these people again. After so many years within the Institute, every face already filed away and saved within the permanent archives of his mind, it’s almost incomprehensible that each face he passes now, every single one, can be new.

“How many are there?” He hears himself whisper, gaze flickering between the woman and her child across the street, the man wearing headphones next to the bus stop, the old man sitting in front of the barber shop to his right. 

“How many what?” Hunk asks, phone raised as he leads Lance down towards the pier.

“People,” Lance replies in awe, head whipping around to follow a couple holding hands as they pass. “There are so many! And each person is different from yesterday, isn’t that amazing?” He’s seen Keith two days in a row; it only made sense that the people in this area would be as repetitive, he'd assumed. Apparently not. 

“There are seven billion people in the world, Lance,” Hunk hisses under his breath, steering him away from where he’d begun to look into a passing stroller. “Of course they’re all different. What did I tell you about personal space?”

Lance straightens immediately, offering the woman a placated look. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says, even though she’s already started walking away. Hunk sighs. Again. It makes Lance feel guilty for some reason.

“Sorry,” he says again, this time to Hunk. “It was just exciting. That tiny person was so small. I didn’t realize a person could be so small.”

This time when Hunk sighs, it’s tinged with a snort of amusement that makes Lance’s heart lift a bit. “It’s called a baby. And they differ in size, but yeah. Most babies are that small, sometimes smaller.”

Lance can’t help but imagine a tiny child no bigger than the size of his hand, maybe even his finger. “Wow,” he breathes. It doesn’t seem possible.

“Do me a favor, all right bud?” Hunk suddenly stops in front of him. They’re at the entrance to the Boardwalk, the pier a few feet away. Keith should be close by then! Lance’s eyes scan the crowd eagerly until his vision is obstructed by Hunk’s snapping fingers. “Hey, hey. Stay with me, Lance. I need you to pay attention before we head down to meet Keith, okay? Can you do me a favor, buddy?”

Lance nods, hoping that whatever favor it is, he can do it quickly. He’s so close to seeing Keith again, seeing his _friend_ again.

“I need you to save all of your questions, both for me and for Keith, until the end of the day. Once we’ve said goodbye, once we’re headed back home, only then can you ask whatever questions you’ve been wanting to. Can you do that for me?”

For a brief second, Lance isn’t sure he can answer that truthfully, at least not the way Hunk wants him to, but if it means the difference between seeing Keith today and not, then he’ll try.

“I can,” Lance nods quickly, determined not to lose his privileges so soon. There’s still _so much_ he wants to do. Starting with an enthusiastic greeting for the Japanese boy across the street who’s yet to notice their approach.

He makes it five steps forward before Hunk’s first words of advice halt his stride. His intent had been to rush into Keith’s Personal Space without thinking, show him how excited he is with a hug, maybe. But he needs to be more cautious about Keith’s comfort. He needs to be softer, maybe. Slower. He frowns, not quite sure how he should proceed all of a sudden. Which is when a loud beeping startles him back to attention, a car braked about a foot in front of him, driver shouting angry words out of his window that for some reason have the opposite effect on him.

He can’t seem to move his legs.

“Lance!” Hunk rushes to his side, pulling him the rest of the way across the street, scolding him all the while. “Why weren’t you listening to me? I kept telling you to come back to my side of the street but it’s like you couldn’t hear me. We didn’t have the right of way, Lance, don’t you remember what that means?”

Lance swallows, stomach knotted up all of a sudden. He’d learned that recently, hadn’t he? Right. “It means we’re not supposed to cross. I’m sorry, Hunk. I was--”

“Excited, I know, but you can’t just go running off into traffic. You’re going to--”

“Lance!” Keith’s voice grabs both of their attentions, and when Lance raises his bowed head, it’s to find Keith rushing over to them, a look of concern on his face. It makes something itchy swarm his chest, something hot flood his cheeks. He’ll have to do some research later. But right now, it’s much easier to just let himself succumb to the odd but welcome sensation Keith’s presence has on his mind. 

“Keith,” Lance whispers, taking a step back and keeping his voice steady. Not too enthusiastic or loud, not in his Personal Space. Good enough. “Hello again.”

“Are you okay?” Keith asks in lieu of his own greeting, and Lance smiles, feeling similarly as soothed as he would after one of Hunk’s hugs or Words of Encouragement. 

“Just got a little too excited to see you, that’s all,” Lance answers truthfully, liking the way Keith’s eyes go wide, his cheeks dusting rosy, even if the reason for it is as of yet still unclear. In the moment, perhaps, his excitement had been different, tinged with an emotion he probably knew the word for somewhere in the back of his mind. Nervous, maybe? But right now, pure and unfiltered excitement is all that remains.

Keith looks excited too, Lance thinks, underneath the combination of more subtle and delicate emotions that Lance is currently too distracted to identify. Not when Keith is standing in front of him, within touching distance, hair tied back in a ponytail and looking at Lance with kind eyes. Eyes that remind Lance of Hunk’s but different. More… something.

Enough so that it makes Lance’s hands twitch at his side, a tug pulling at the center of his chest as if attempting to lure him in Keith’s direction. Before he can second guess himself, Lance glances from Keith to Hunk and back, squaring his shoulders.

“I don’t know how you feel about Personal Space,” Lance starts, watching as Keith’s brows furrow in confusion for a moment. Hunk groans softly from behind him, just loud enough for Lance to hear; he ignores him and presses on anyway. “But can I give you a hug?”

Keith blinks, that same pink flush from before spreading anew across pale, smooth cheeks. Lance decides he likes the look of it, especially when combined with a hesitant smile and the unsure outstretch of Keith’s arms in Lance’s direction. Lance wastes no time.

Trying not to be too enthusiastic, Lance doesn’t jump directly into Keith’s embrace, doesn’t run or skip or rush. He just takes a step forward, settles himself against Keith’s chest, and wraps his arms, gentle but firm, around Keith’s waist. It’s not until Keith has returned the hug that Lance truly realizes how warm Keith is, how perfectly suited he is in Lance’s arms. Lance can’t help but hum in approval, giving Keith a subtle squeeze before letting go and pulling away. Though not completely, settling a hand on each of Keith’s shoulder in a way that’s reminiscent of how they first met.

The two of them are standing just close enough that Lance realizes he has to glance just slightly upwards to keep eye contact. Lance smiles.

“I’m an inch and a half taller than you,” he says, completely unprompted, and the look that flashes across Keith’s face confuses him. Wide eyes lending themselves to a confused squint which morphs into a gesture Lance has never seen before. Like his eyes might roll back into his sockets for a moment if he’s not careful. 

The transition of expressions also comes with a huff of breath from between Keith’s lips and a slight nudge of his fist against Lance’s arm. “No you’re not,” he says, and now it’s Lance’s turn to be confused.

“I am!” Lance places one hand on his hip and uses the other to offer a vague measurement between the crowns of their heads. “I’m one inch and one point zero six centimeters taller than you!”

Keith raises an eyebrow at that, a smile widening across his lips that Lance wants to return, but he's supposed to be arguing right now.

“Now I know you’re lying.” Keith crosses his arms over his chest and Lance is at a loss, looking over at Hunk with a pleading expression. The man just shrugs, amusement evident on his features too.

“I’m not! I-- Hunk!” Lance whines, and apparently the sound finally breaks Keith’s resolve, because all of a sudden, there’s laughter from just over Lance’s shoulder.

When Lance turns back around, it’s to find Keith bent double, a vibrant echo of laughter practically enveloping him and threatening to pull Lance in. Any desire to argue leaves him in a rush, warmth and happiness taking its place.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Keith manages once the laughter starts to settle, though it still tinges each word in a bubbly sort of melody that Lance wishes he could record for playback whenever he wants.

“Am I?” Lance asks, and his words sound oddly breathless, which makes no sense considering he has plenty of breath in his lungs for both speaking and breathing. Keith’s laughter finally tapers out, smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Yeah. You are,” he says, voice fond in a way Hunk’s has never been. It’s a sound Lance thinks he prefers, though he’ll keep that to himself so he doesn’t hurt Hunk’s feelings.

“Is that a bad thing?” Lance asks, just in case, though with the way Keith is smiling at him, he doubts it. Thankfully, Keith shakes his head and places a hand on Lance’s arm, turning him towards the pier.

“Not at all, Lance,” Keith soothes. “Now come on. You wanted to check out the pier, right?”

“Yeah!” Lance answers without hesitation, following easily at the behest of Keith’s prompting. Though not without glancing over his shoulder at Hunk for affirmation first. Hunk’s expression is the most unidentifiable to date, but he still shoots Lance a Thumbs Up, so he figures it’s not important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is already in progress. Just gotta ride the wave of motivation and hopefully I'll get it out to you guys soon. And again, to anyone who's stuck around this long, you have my whole ass heart.


	7. Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith swears he didn’t mean for this to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hesitant to post this chapter because it’s literally the one I’ve been aiming towards since the beginning and I wanted to make it as perfect as the scene in my head was that inspired this rollercoaster.
> 
> But I also really wanna know what you guys think so... I hope you like it. Thanks for being so patient with me.

Keith’s pretty sure he’s never been as enthusiastic about anything in his life the way that Lance is about all the sights and sounds of the pier. In fact, as they walk leisurely along, his eyes seem to scan nearly every single detail of the world around them, from the people to the crashing waves below the pier to the birds circling over head. Logically Keith knows the guy was sheltered, had probably never experienced any of these things in person, but it’s another thing entirely to _see_ it.

“Keith, look!” Lance calls out to him for the umpteenth time, spinning around to face him while still attempting to point in the opposite direction, a perfect display of pure, innocent exuberance. Keith has fallen a few steps behind, content to simply watch Lance admire… well, _everything_. But watching his eagerness as he captures Keith’s gaze reminds him of just _how much_ he’s been “simply watching.”

Or, well… _staring_ might be more accurate.

Cheeks suddenly burning, Keith glances to the side where Hunk has been keeping an eye on Lance too, though for very different reasons. He keeps splitting his focus between Lance and his data pad, expression shifting from fondness to concentration and back. 

Keith feels a little guilty for only admiring and not… not what? Babysitting? 

This is confusing. 

Especially when Lance skips up next to him and tugs on his arm, eyes shining such a beautiful blue it takes Keith’s breath away.

Yeah. Confusing.

All of a sudden, Lance is leaning in close, eyes shifting from Keith’s face to where Hunk is currently absorbed in whatever it is he’s making notes of. This close, Keith can make out the flecks of gold around his pupil, the soft spattering of freckles across his nose. He can also make out the conspiratorial look in his eye, the mischievous tilt of his soft-looking lips.

“Come on,” Lance whispers, hand sneaking down Keith’s arm to intertwine long, dexterous fingers in between Keith’s own.

Then, without warning, he’s being yanked full body down the boardwalk.

Not for the first time, Keith can’t help but wonder what the hell he's doing. He barely knows the guy currently hauling him down the pier and yet he’s laughing in excited surprise. He knows part of him is using Lance as a distraction, as a form of procrastination when it comes to dealing with his problems—god dammit, Pidge—and yet, he hasn’t felt this happy in a while. All because of Lance and his weird demeanor and equally weird but oddly charming personality. 

Lance, who fell into his life just as quickly as he’s managed to sneak his way into Keith’s mind. With his blue eyes and tan skin and smile that’s so pure and filled with genuineness it feels like staring directly at the sun. With his weird quirks and his constant eagerness. With his full lips and angular jaw and strong arms that Keith seemed to fit perfectly in and—

Shit.

As his thoughts start to take a turn—from pure and innocent to, maybe not impure but definitely not innocent—he can’t help but notice more. Like the way his hand feels when their fingers are interlocked, or the way Lance is smiling so big as they dodge other people on the pier that it makes Keith’s heart stutter. Like the slope of his neck or the strip of skin just below his shirt that keeps riding up in his haste. Like the sound of his laugh or the way he says Keith’s name like it’s his favorite word in the world.

He’s so consumed by these thoughts—not quite revelation so much as acceptance—that he almost misses the moment Lance rounds a corner into a half hidden alley between two storefronts, his shoulder only barely missing contact with brick. It takes him just long enough to reorient himself that he can do nothing but stand there, back against the alley wall, as Lance crowds into his space, the two of them pressed nearly chest to chest.

A fierce sense of dejavu follows the action, enough so that Keith speaks before ever fully making the decision to do so. Of course, as if following the same script from that first encounter, all Keith manages is a stunned, “What are you--?” before Lance is placing a hand over Keith’s mouth and shushing him quiet.

Which means all Keith can really do at the moment is go right back to the staring.

This close, Keith can feel each of Lance’s breaths against his chest, his own coming out in soft huffs through his nose. Just like last time, Keith can’t help but be amazed at how soft Lance’s hand is as it presses gently against his mouth. Something fierce and impatient inside Keith demands that he press his lips into Lance’s palm, possibly even lick at the skin of it, taste the salt and humanity of him directly, but Keith forces the desire back. As tactile as Lance seems to be, a guy’s gotta have boundaries.

But the thought itself prods at one of many unspoken curiosities about the boy currently holding him hostage. It’s obvious with the way he leans into Hunk and asks for hugs that the guy’s a little touch-starved, possibly even more so than Keith. Why is that? Is he not getting enough at the hospital they’re keeping him at? Do they lock him up in a room somewhere and leave him alone all the time? And sure, Hunk said that Lance was sick, but do they never let him outside at all? By the way he responded to everything at the pier, signs point to no. No matter which way Keith tries to spin it, it doesn’t seem like a healthy environment for anyone, let alone a twenty-something boy with a kind heart and an apparently endless enthusiasm for life. 

Something isn’t right about all this, but Keith doesn't have enough information to figure out what.

The need to question Lance about all this becomes suddenly overwhelming, enough so that Keith raises a hand to Lance’s wrist in attempt to pull that hand away from his mouth so he can speak. What if Lance is in danger? What if he doesn’t even realize? What if he needs help?

Before he gets the chance to do so, however, Lance is bouncing on the balls of his feet and hovering a finger in front of his own lips.

“Shh shh! He’s coming!” Lance whispers, and for all his staring, it’s only now that Keith realizes Lance has been looking out past the alleyway the whole time, his reason rushing past the two of them in a frantic hurry.

“Lance? Keith?” Hunk is calling out, growing more and more panicked as the two of them continue to hide. “This isn’t funny, you guys!” He honestly sounds like he might cry, and for a second, Keith feels guilty enough that he almost calls out. Hunk is Lance’s handler after all. Should they really be hiding from him?

But then, all those questions come rushing back and Keith stays silent.

And if keeping silent allows him to watch that eager excitement and giddy mischievousness for a little bit longer, then that’s just an added perk. 

The two of them listen for a long moment until Hunk’s desperate calls fade into the distance, Hunk successfully evaded. As if taking that as his cue, Lance lets his long fingers and soft palm drop from Keith’s lips, though he makes no move to pull away, simply smiling impishly and letting his eyes shamelessly roam Keith’s face.

At least for a moment.

“Sorry,” Lance whispers, eyes widening and brows furrowing in guilt. He takes a step back, pulling away, and Keith’s heart is suddenly hammering in his chest with something anxious and needy and— “Personal space. I forgo—”

Though he has no memory of the decision, made purely on instinct most likely, Keith is suddenly reaching out and snatching Lance’s wrist in a firm grip, keeping him from moving any further away. Expectedly, Lance glances from their joined hands and back to Keith’s face in adorable and heartbreaking confusion.

“Keith?” Lance asks, voice soft, and Keith loves the sound of his name in Lance’s warm tenor, _craves_ it.

_I want to kiss you._

“I want…” He hears himself say on half second delay, and the sound of it, raspy and desperate, rips him from his stupid, hormonal selfishness. He drops Lance’s wrist as if burned. 

This is ridiculous. What is he even _doing_? It’s obvious that Lance’s mind is as far away from where Keith’s is spiraling that he feels almost ashamed. Lance called him his _friend_ , has done nothing to show any interest beyond that, anything remotely like attraction.

Except for the easy way he linked their fingers together, and pressed in close, and touched his face, and— 

But no. That’s just the way Lance is, and Keith is jet letting his horny, gay brain get the best of him. Acting on it would be taking advantage. Right?

“Keith…?” Lance whispers again, this time looking concerned, and something like nervous? Like he thinks he’s done something wrong. And shit. Fuck. God dammit, he should call Hunk. He should take Lance back to the pier, put distance between them and act like a gentleman, a _friend_. 

And instead, all he can do is get lost in endlessly blue eyes and watch his resolve crumble. He takes a step forward, covering what little distance Lance put between them before Keith had reached for his wrist.

Again, his name whispered past full lips, this time awed. He looks like Keith’s proximity is something thrilling, unexpected, and Keith wants to force him up against brick and remove all semblance of space entirely.

But Lance isn’t leaning in, isn’t meeting him halfway, and it’s enough for Keith to hesitate. 

“You said… you want,” Lance fills the tense silence, eyes never leaving Keith’s face. “What do you want, Keith?”

Keith’s cheeks burn, his heart flipping, stomach swooping. He must know, right? Surely that question means—

“Please don’t make me say it,” he manages to get out, internally wincing at the croak in his voice. Why does he sound so wrecked, already? Jesus… is he really that thirsty?

Lance just tilts his head, lips quirking in a way that has to be intentional, can be nothing but teasing, especially as he says in total and complete seriousness, “But if you only think it, then how will I hear it?”

Keith can’t help but groan, eyes falling closed and chest squeezing in frustration, because it isn’t fair. It isn’t _fair_ that this beautiful boy has dropped into his life during a time where he probably doesn’t need it busy definitely _wants_ it and he’s just standing there so… so…

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” That was _definitely_ not what he meant to say, and Kuching by the way Lance’s head straightens and his lips quirk into a confused smile, it’s not what he expected either. “I mean…” he tries to save face. “If you want to. You don’t have to. It’s just—“

“Your place?” Lance interrupts, expression still curious and confused and so cute, Keith can’t even begin to handle it.

“Um… my apartment isn’t too far from here, if you want to check it out, maybe?” Keith clarifies, not quite able to meet Lance’s eyes. “We can watch a movie maybe, or just get to know each other…” He should probably feel guilty about what he says next, but every word he’s spoken, everything he’s just offered, has been punctuated by the steadily growing, infinitely beaming smile across Lance’s face.

“It could be a fun way to hide from Hunk.”

The glint in Lance’s eyes from before returns full force, his smile turning devious and eager and Keith wants to imprint that smile onto his brain, frame it and save it up there somewhere forever. It sets his own pulse to racing, his blood thrumming with dangerous excitement.

Enough for him to be the one to reach out this time, twine their fingers together, and pull.

—

His apartment is a little run down, and a little small, and he definitely should have taken care of the dishes in the sink before inviting a guest over, but Lance looks at the place like it’s the Taj Mahal. It’s practically the same all encompassing enthusiasm as he’d shown at the pier, filled with awe and an eagerness to experience something new that would be better suited to a dynamic light show or an elaborate botanical gardens than a twenty-one year old’s ramshackle apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” Keith says, half distracted by the way Lance is now poking one of his couch cushions. “Can I get you anything?” Lance walks over to his TV and runs his hands along the screen. “I have some beer, sodas, maybe—“

“My diet is regimented by the—“

“Right,” Keith cuts him off, feeling a little foolish. “The medical facility tracks what you eat and stuff. Want some water or something then?”

That question actually manages to drag Lance’s attention away from where he’s currently running a finger down each individual spine of books on Keith’s bookshelf. For a long moment, he simply stares at Keith, expression indiscernible, but then he nods, smiles, and says, “I’m not thirsty. Thank you though!” And then he’s right back to the bookshelf, lips forming silently around some of the titles.

“No problem,” Keith mumbles, mostly to himself since Lance is once again thoroughly distracted. Which, Keith finds to be, in and of itself, thoroughly distracting.

Keith has never really understood what the phrase, “Having a thirst for life,” really meant, but watching Lance flit about his apartment, completely enthralled by the simplest, most mundane things… he kind of thinks he gets it now. His hands reach out almost of their own accord to every item in his path, his wide blue eyes taking in the new environment like a person traveling to a new country for the first time. And his smile?

His smile is blinding.

Something pinches in Keith’s chest and he forces himself to look away, busying his own hands with a glass and the brita filter just to have something, _anything_ to do beyond staring at the beautiful boy in his living room. It’s because of this hyperfixation on the way the water fills the glass that he completely misses the moment Lance gives up on his wandering and returns to Keith’s side. Or more specifically, returns to slip an arm around Keith’s waist in a side hug that nearly startles the glass of water right out of Keith’s hands.

“Uh…?” Keith’s mind blanks out at the sudden contact, his heart jumping into his throat. Lance squeezes him tight for a long second and then let’s go, taking a step away, lingering in Keith’s line of sight.

Something in his expression has Lance’s smile falling. 

“Am I supposed to ask every time?” He mumbles in a concerned rush, his head falling forward with a guilty slump to his shoulders. He fidgets, scuffs his shoe. It’s as adorable as it is heartbreaking. “I thought, since you gave me permission before that it would carry over, but if I made you uncomfortable or invaded your personal space again, I—“

“Hey,” Keith cuts him off before he can spiral any further. Quickly putting the glass down, Keith reaches forward with both hands and stops Lance’s own from their fidgeting. The touch has Lance looking up, recapturing his gaze with something akin to hope. It yanks at something deep in Keith’s heart, has it ricocheting like a slingshot against his chest. 

“You don’t have to ask,” Keith says, pulling Lance into his chest and wrapping his arms tight around broad shoulders. Lance sags against him, burrowing further into the embrace and practically nuzzling his cheek against the spot between Keith’s neck and shoulder. It has the rather pleasant but kind of embarrassing effect of sending a shudder down Keith’s spine. He clears his throat, face burning. “Just warn me first, okay?”

Lance pulls out of the hug, beaming once again, and nods. “Okay.” Despite the way no longer having Lance in his arms leaves him feeling cold, Keith can’t help but smile back, undeniably enamored by Lance’s sheer exuberance. Like a puppy dog, just as quick to cower when scolded as it is to wag its tail at the sight of a tennis ball.

Again, Keith can’t help but wonder just what kind of life he’s lived until now. What sort of sheltered existence has left him so eager for affection but so quick to assume he’s in the wrong for wanting it. The idea alone has a familiar itch growing along his knuckles, a throb of anger simmering behind his sternum. 

“So, do I get to know yet?” Lance asks suddenly, abruptly shattering Keith’s train of thought and causing that anger to, surprisingly, wither away. When Keith forces himself back to the present, it’s to find Lance sitting comfortably on his couch, looking over at Keith with a friendly smile and an eager, curious look in his eyes.

Keith shakes his head, the last remnants of distracting anger fading completely as he approaches the couch. “Do you get to know what?”

“What you want.” Lance continues to smile innocently, face tilted upward, completely unaware of how that response leaves Keith reeling, throat dry and heat curling low in his stomach. The hesitation must leave Lance assuming he’s forgotten, because Lance adds for clarity, “In the alley. You said you wanted something. Your eyes were dilated and your breathing was labored, so it seemed important and I want to help.”

Keith blinks. He blinks again. Then he lets all the air out of his lungs in a rush, collapsing next to Lance on the couch. 

That… wasn’t what he expected, doesn’t even really know what to say to that, but he also can’t deny that having that eagerness directed at him. Well. Later, he’ll blame that for the words that come out of his mouth.

“I wanted to kiss you.”

The second he says it, he kind of wants to die. Because when he finally gathers the courage to look to his right and gauge Lance’s reaction, he’s met with something he’s unprepared to handle. Pure, unfiltered confusion.

“Do you…?” Keith tries not to balk, but surely even as sheltered as he’s been, someone his age will have had thoughts, curiosities, _urges._ “You know what a kiss is… don’t you?”

For another long moment, Lance only stares, face oddly blank bar the slight furrow of his brows. 

“I haven’t been taught that terminology yet,” he eventually says, and Keith’s brain goes into overdrive. Because this means Keith has to make a decision.

Clearly Lance’s inexperience transcends that of a normal twenty-something, which means Keith should probably leave it alone, put on a movie, call Hunk and let him know that he kidnapped his charge.

But another part of him… Fuck, he’s only human, right? And Lance is looking at him with open admiration and curiosity and he’s so beautiful, so adorable, that Keith caves so quickly it’s almost pathetic. 

“Do you want me to explain it to you? What a kiss is, I mean.”

Lance doesn’t hesitate, eyes lighting up and smile returning full force. “I would like that.”

Keith’s heart skips a beat, which is ridiculous. It’s just a kiss, a learning experience for someone very inexperienced currently waiting on bated breath before him and— Ugh. It’s just a kiss, and he’ll be sure Lance knows exactly what that means before asking for anything more; he’s not a dick. 

It’s just a kiss.

And he wants to kiss Lance. A lot. And hopefully, once he knows what that means, Lance will want to kiss him a lot too. Keith hopes that he does.

“Keith?” The soft sound of his name in Lance’s voice startles him out of his mental tirade. Keith takes a breath, let’s it out in a rush, and then turns to face Lance more completely.

“A um, a kiss… well, it’s…” Yikes. When did he get so _awkward_? Another breath, in and out. Okay. Take two. “A kiss is something two people do when they are attracted to each other and like each other. Do you know what I mean?”

“Like hugs?” 

Keith can’t help but bite his lip at the connection, but he wants Lance to understand. Needs him to truly, properly understand.

“Kinda. It’s something else physical, like a hug, but means more because you only do it with someone you have… romantic feelings for.” It still feels awkward to say out loud, but Keith can see the gears turning in Lance’s head and so presses on. “I enjoy being around you and hanging out with you. But more than that, I think you’re really, stupidly attractive. And that makes me want to kiss you.”

Despite Keith’s burning face, Lance only smiles that same curious smile. “Attractive?”

With a groan, Keith runs a hand over his face; he’s pretty sure he’s never been so embarrassed. “It means I like looking at you. You’re… You’re really nice to look at.”

“I like looking at you too...” Lance says after a contemplative moment, shifting a bit on the couch cushion. “And I like being around you and hugging you.” He pauses again, his eyes far away and lips parted in growing recognition. When he looks at Keith again, his grin has the same sort of mischievous glint that it had in the alley. He leans forward towards Keith in a way that’s suddenly, definitely eager. “And I’m sure I’ll like kissing you too, so can we—?”

“Hang on,” Keith cuts him off with a startled laugh. That was… a level of enthusiasm he wasn’t expecting. It’s one hell of an ego boost. “You don’t actually know _what_ a kiss it yet. It’s… well. Um.” Okay, saying something like “two people put their lips together” sounds cringey. But how else does he say it? Hm. Alright, how about— 

“Gimme your hand.”

Lance obeys without hesitation, and before Keith can overthink it, he laces their fingers together, raises Lance’s hand to his lips, and places a kiss against the back. His skin feels so soft against his lips that it makes Keith’s heart stutter. 

“That,” Keith says, barely above a whisper, as he pulls Lance’s hand away and settles it between them still linked. “Is a kiss.”

Lance raises his free hand to touch the tips of his fingers to his own lips. Then, he raises Keith’s hand in a parrot of Keith’s gesture and places his lips against Keith’s skin. 

Even that simple touch sends a thrill through Keith, a bloom of warmth spreading across his chest.

“Sometimes people kiss shoulders too, or foreheads or necks,” Keith hears himself ramble on half second delay, still thoroughly absorbed in the feel of Lance’s soft and sweet kiss even after he’s lowered their hands. “But the one that means the most…” Why does his throat feel so dry? Why is his stomach swooping? “Is a kiss on the lips.”

Lance just sits there for a moment, as if taking it all in, then he’s scooting forward, eyes scanning Keith’s face in sudden understanding. “You want to kiss me on the lips.” It’s not a question. All Keith can do us nod. “I think... I want to kiss you on the lips too.” That swooping in his stomach explodes into a frightening mess of butterflies.

Again, out of body, filled with want and his own eagerness, Keith whispers, “Can I?”

Lance nods.

Keith leans forward, surprised to find Lance already meeting him halfway, and then gently, carefully, closes the distance.

It’s barely a kiss at all, just a subtle press, but Lance’s lips are as soft as his hands, and they give way beneath his perfectly. Keith instantly wants to deepen it, feels his free hand lifting to cradle at the base of Lance’s skull, maybe help him angle, lure him closer. But instead, Keith pulls away. Lance said he could kiss him, and he did. He refuses to be greedy.

Lance’s face is filled with an overabundance of expression when Keith pulls away, some of which akin to awe or wonder. Either way, it looks beautiful on him. A first kiss.

Lance raises his fingers back to his lips. There’s a long moment where he just stares at Keith, eyes so blue they don’t seem real. But after a few moments, he finally whispers an astounded, “Wow…” and then promptly passes out.

“Lance…?” Keith whispers, too shocked at first to properly respond. But then the situation catches up to him. “Lance!” 

In a rush, Keith is scrambling off the couch and more directly to Lance’s side, knees landing hard on the floor; he doesn’t even feel it. He’s too consumed with panic, blood rushing in his ears as he takes in Lance’s slumped, unmoving form. 

“H-Hey…” Keith squeaks out, raising a shaking hand towards Lance’s shoulder, unsure what to do, if he should prod or shake or not touch him at all. With growing panic, he notices that Lance’s chest isn’t moving. Desperate, he finally lets his hand cradle Lance’s jaw, lets his fingers press lightly against where he’s pretty sure the pulse point should be. “Come on, come on, come on. Wake up, Lance, please…”

He waits. It’s probably only a few seconds. It feels like an eternity.

He can’t find a pulse.

With a jolt, he pulls his hand away and scrambles backwards into the coffee table. He knows it’s pressed uncomfortably into his back, but he can’t feel that either. All he can feel, ironically, is his own breathing — panting, heaving, _hyperventilating_ — as he stares at Lance… at Lance’s…

“ _Fuck!_ ” He stumbles frantically to his feet, nearly falling backwards over the coffee table as he tries to remember where he left his phone. He has to call 911, he has to call Hunk, he— oh god. Hunk is going to literally murder him. And he deserves it. He fucking deserves it, because Lance… Fuck. If he’s really… but he can’t be, he _can't be._ He’ll be fine. Keith just has to find his _fucking phone_ , then he’ll— 

As if a mercy sent from the gods, he hears his phone begin to vibrate somewhere in the kitchen. He nearly trips over his own feet to get to it, chest heavy and breaths coming out in choked sobs when he sees its Pidge on the other end. He answers it on reflex, hands trembling violently, and then shakes his head, about to hang up and dial 911 like he meant to, like he _should_ , because _Lance_ —

“Don’t hang up!” Pidge’s voice shouts on the other end of the line as if reading his thoughts. A warring sensation makes his throat constrict and his eyes burn.

“P-Pidge,” Keith chokes out, keeping the phone to his ear even as he turns to look at Lance, still not moving, still not _breathing_. “Pidge, I have to… I have to go, I— Lance, he—“

“Keith, stop,” she orders again, voice more demanding than an eighteen year old whiz kid has any right to sound. But the confidence in her tone keeps him grounded. Until she says, “Don’t call 911.”

_What?_

“But Pidge, he—“

“I know, but trust me on this, okay? I’m on my way with Hunk. Don’t do anything stupid till we get there, alright?”

“I don’t—“

“Promise me, Keith.”

It makes no sense. Lance needs _help_. But Pidge’s tone brokers no argument, and Keith is too scared, too overwhelmed to do anything but follow along.

“O-Okay.”

He can just barely make out the sound of Pidge’s relieved exhale before she’s saying, “Good. Okay, great. Don’t worry, Keith. Everything’s going to be fine.”

He wants to ask her how she knows. He wants to ask her how she even knew to call in the first place. But all he can do is nod shakily to himself and repeat another soft and unsure, “Okay,” before the call disconnects.

Keith lowers the phone from his ear, arm falling limp to his side even as the grip on his iPhone tightens. Lance hasn’t moved throughout the entire one-sided phone call, not a single muscle.

He forces himself to look away, heart pounding against chest in a painful throb as a cold sweat breaks out along the back of his neck. 

He starts pacing.

Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to call 911, to call an ambulance, to get Lance some _fucking help_ , but Pidge made him promise. _Why_ though? What else is he supposed to _do?_

He distracts himself by looking at his phone. Ten missed calls and three missed texts from Hunk; guilt churns his already sour stomach into something nauseating. Five texts from Pidge; safer territory, less anxiety inducing.

 **Pidge (5:07pm)** \- _Dude, you’ll never believe what I just found out. Call me._

 **Pidge (5:10pm)** \- _I’m serious, this is crazy important and super fuckin insane. I need to tell you before you do anything stupid._

 **Pidge (5:12pm)** \- _I just looked at the cctv by the pier and saw Hunk running around like a chicken with his head cut off. Where the fuck are you?_

 **Pidge (5:17pm)** \- _I hope you’re home cuz I just called him and gave him your address. You’re so screwed, dude. He was pISSED. >/i>_

 **Pidge (5:21pm)** \- _Please don’t be mad, but I hacked your X-Box camera._

That must have been how she knew what was going on. Part of him is his usual mix of creeped out and impressed, but strangely another part of him is relieved. At least, she might have seen that it was an accident, that all he’d done was kiss the guy. This couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault, right?

But what about Lance? What are they going to do? What is waiting for Pidge and Hunk to arrive going to do for him that calling an ambulance right away wouldn’t?

He’s not sure if he wants to cry or vomit or both. For all he knows, his stupid hormones just _killed_ somebody.

Fuck. _Fuck. Fuck!_

He’s still pacing, both hands tangled in his hair, when Pidge bursts through the door. Keith nearly bulrushes her, too filled with manic, terrified energy to stop.

“I told you... they were... here,” Pidge pants over her shoulder, apparently having sprinted up the apartment stairs. In response, Hunk hurries past them both, kneeling next to the couch just like Keith had only moments ago, easing Lance into a seated position with a gentleness and a familiarity that makes more guilt churn in his gut and stab at his chest.

“How long has he been out?” Hunk asks, and while he sounds a tad desperate, he doesn’t sound nearly as frantic or terrified or even _furious_ like Keith had been expecting. “Keith,” Hunk says his name like a command when Keith takes too long to respond. His fingers run over Lance’s forehead, his neck, his chest, not bothering to look over his shoulder when he repeats more sternly, “I need to know exactly how long he’s been… unconscious.”

How long _has_ it been? It feels like hours, maybe days, but he knows that can’t be right.

“I don’t…” He wracks his brain trying to remember exactly when they’d gotten to his apartment, exactly when they’d kissed, exactly when Lance had… when he’d…

“It’s been fourteen minutes,” Pidge chimes in, and Keith can only blink down at her, because how could she possibly— oh. Right. His X-Box.

”Shit,” Hunk mumbles to himself, head hanging from his shoulders for a moment before he straightens, hands still checking for signs of life, Keith assumes. When he speaks again, it’s distant and nervous and something else. Something like… disappointed? 

“It’s already been too long. There’s not enough time to take him back to the Institute. I’m…” He glances at Keith for barely a second before looking back at Lance; his sigh is so, so tired, maybe even a tad forlorn. “I’m going to have to do it here.” Another pause, then an even more ominous but terrifyingly genuine, “I’m sorry, Keith.”

Before he has the chance to wonder why Hunk could possibly be apologizing to _him_ when it was _his_ fault that Lance is in this position _at all_ , Hunk places two fingers to the back of Lance’s neck and starts speaking again. This time to Lance in words Keith can’t even begin to process. At least, not at first.

“Lima Alpha November Charlie Echo, Prototype Nine Decimal Point Zero, Experiment One Three Nine B, Hard Reboot Protocol.”

Lance’s eyes open.

The instant rush of relief is so thick and visceral it nearly knocks Keith to his knees. Instead, he feels himself take a step forward like an out of body experience, his hand outstretched in Lance’s direction.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s _alive_.

Before he can even complete that single step, however, a hand is gripping his wrist and yanking him backwards. When Keith looks down at Pidge, confused and for some reason a little bit hurt, she’s already looking up at him, eyes sad. Apologetic. She shakes her head and looks back towards Lance and Hunk.

Keith follows her gaze just in time to see Lance open his mouth and say, in a voice so devoid of emotion and intonation that it barely even sounds like him at all, “Protocol Initiated. Audio Connection Established. Personnel Identification Code Authorized for Hunk Garrett.”

_Wait._

“Time stamp for most recent logged memory,” Hunk continues, and Keith stops breathing.

Lance says, again in that chilling monotone, “Data Collection Stored Up To Time Stamp 17:23, 18 September 2039.”

_What?_

Hunk lets out a breath of nearly palpable relief. “Oh thank god,” he says through a weary chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s get you back up and running then, ‘kay bud?”

_What’s going on…?_

“Lance.” There’s no response when Hunk says his name. Lance’s eyes are empty and unblinking, his face completely devoid of emotion. He hardly even looks like himself, hardly even looks _human_.

Or… _doesn’t look human at all_ , Keith barely lets himself think, can barely allow himself to believe, because it can’t be. Not Lance. Not someone who asks for a hug with a timid grin turned beaming smile. Not someone who melts into any touch like he’s starved for it. Not someone who wonders at the world around him like he’s… like he’s never seen it before.

_Oh. Oh fuck._

“Lance,” Hunk says his name again, and Keith’s pretty sure he’s about to pass out. “Repeat after me, alright?”

“Command accepted.”

_This can’t be happening._

“Field trip, kitten, blue, baby, crosswalk—“  
“Field trip, kitten, blue, baby, crosswalk—“ 

_This isn’t real._

“Personal space, hug, pier, escape—“  
“Personal space, hug, pier, escape—“

_Please stop._

“Keith—“  
“Keith—“

_Please…_

“Kiss.”  
“Kiss.”

Lance blinks. His eyelashes flutter. His eyebrows furrow in what should be adorable, almost sleepy confusion.

“Kiss…” Lance repeats again, voice suddenly laced with familiar emotion, rich and genuine and Keith doesn’t know what to feel. His blood is thrumming in his veins, his ears ringing. He wants to run, he wants to punch something. But worst of all, he still wants to be near Lance, to hold him. To kiss him.

Especially when Lance finally shakes his head, blinks his unfocused gaze over Hunk’s shoulder to Keith, and offers a bright, oblivious smile.

“Keith? When did you go over there?” Keith’s heart spasms. “Oh, Hunk! What are you doing here?” Keith’s stomach drops. “Hello, Pidge! It’s nice to see you again!” Keith’s breath leaves his lungs in a painful wheeze. “Why does everybody look so strange? Is something wrong?”

Keith gives in to the desire to run, turns on his heel, and walks out of the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger... I promise that I have no intentions of abandoning this fic, especially not now that we’ve finally hit this point. So, for all of you who’ve held on and continue to read and comment and kudos (kudo...?) just, thank you. Thank you all so much. I’m basically writing this more for you than anyone at this point. I want to give you the story you deserve.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a good chunk of this done, and if the response is good enough, my hope is that it will motivate me to get it done. If not, either way, you guys will get a decent amount of chapters nonetheless. I really love this AU, even if it came to me ages ago, and I hope you guys do too. 
> 
> Regardless of if a lot of you weren't fans of the Voltron S8 culmination, hopefully your love for these characters persisted like mine has.
> 
> Cheers.


End file.
